


The Greatest Man

by AColorfulMind



Series: The Chronicles of Etheldrea Holmes [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherlock Has a Daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AColorfulMind/pseuds/AColorfulMind
Summary: The Detective's Daughter, Etheldrea Holmes, thought everything was fine. Her life was back to normal, and she finally made up with her dad. However, when a monstrous hound threatens her dad's sanity, and Jim Moriarty turns up again with a plan to destroy Sherlock, their relationship will be tested more than it ever has.





	1. Bribery and Below Part 1

_“No, no, I’ve got something_ very _special planned for her. But, if you do this, I might just leave her alone. Come on; how far are you willing to go? What would you do? Anything? Everything?”_

* * *

_She was curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the empty black chair in front of her. She sighed and turned to face the ceiling, her eyes glancing towards the spray painted smiley face on the wall behind her. She sighed again and turned towards the black chair once more. On the coffee table was a letter she had been putting off for days._

_She didn’t want to read, she was too scared. Days ago everything in her life was flipped upside down, and this letter would only add to it. What could one more catastrophic event add? She would be happier if she didn’t read it, but she wasn’t happy to begin with._

_She made a decision, and with aching limbs, pushed herself up and reached for the envelope. She ripped through the flap and pulled out the folded paper. Her hands shaking, she unfolded and began to read._

To my dearest daughter, you have absolutely no idea how much I love you and the length I would go to keep you safe. You are sure to have questions, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to answer them. Certain events have compelled me to leave you but I know you will be better off.

_She stopped reading, a hand flying to her mouth and tears streaming down her face. She crumpled the letter in her one hand and stuffed it under the sofa cushion. She couldn’t read it now, not yet._

* * *

_Five Months Earlier_

“Come on, pay up.”

“ _Fine_ , ninety. There you go.”

The three tenants of two-two-one B Baker Street were sat around the coffee table, the board game Monopoly in front of them. The tan, blonde haired man, named John Watson, was just passing around Go and about to pay the cheapest rent on the only street belonging to his flat mate next to him.

The man with very dark nearly black curly hair, pale skin, and silvery eyes, collected the money quickly. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was currently low on cash, and wouldn’t be able to afford the next rent should he land on a space. While John wasn’t looking, he leaned towards the teenaged girl on his right.

She was obviously his daughter for her short hair was the same color, and her skin and eyes were also the same as his own.  Her name was Etheldrea Holmes, and she owned about half the board along with John.

So only she could hear, he whispered, “I will give you fifty for information on John’s criminal records.”

“I’m sorry?” she whispered back, John oblivious.

“You heard me. Fine, I’ll go seventy-five, but that’s it.”

Etheldrea turned her head away and stifled a laugh. Then, she turned back and told Sherlock “what she knew”.

“He runs a sex-trafficking ring in Brixton. Also he’s been linked to an arson case where two people died. That’s worth eighty.”

He grumbled and paid her, “Fine.”

Etheldrea made her turn, paid John her rent, and then it was Sherlock’s turn. Without a doubt, he would have to declare bankruptcy after this. He rolled the dice, made his moves, and landed on Etheldrea’s hotel. He didn’t have enough, the last of his money only totaling to twenty.

John smirked, “Sherlock, you know what you have to do now.”

Sherlock smirked also, “I think you’ll find nothing happens now. Not if you want the police to know about your . . . business.”

He scoffed, “What are you talking about?”

“Brixton, the ring. A little fire.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie. I know about the sex trafficking you’re doing. And the arson! Two people dead. Etheldrea told me.”

She shook her head, and lied “He’s lost it, and my money.”

“I gave you eighty quid for that information!”

“What?” John asked, “Let me see.”

“He’s mad john!” Etheldrea said.

“I’ve been keeping track of your money, let me see.”

Etheldrea sighed while Sherlock held up his only slip of money left. John knew they had been doing this but until now he had failed to prove it. He leaned his head back and gave an exasperated sigh.

“I win by default, again.”

“What?” Sherlock and Etheldrea asked in unison.

“This is the third game where you two have cheated.”

“But-“

“Nope! No, we’re going to play something else, and I’m going to watch very carefully. Neither of you are going to cheat.” He started packing up the game.

Etheldrea turned to Sherlock, “You do know I lied, right?”

“In reality, yes. I thought in game you’d be kinder.”

“Oh please. I’ll only do things to help myself.”

“You just _had to be_ competitive.”

“Dad, look who’s talking.”

 John left to put the game away and came back with a new one entitled Cluedo. He started setting it up while Etheldrea looked over the instructions.

 “Where the hell are you finding all these games?” Sherlock asked.

“Mrs. Hudson has a surprising lot of them.”

“Why does she have all these?”

Etheldrea said, “Before I was old enough to go on cases with you, we’d play a lot of them. _We_ played them right.”

“Oh shut up. You’ve been cheating too!”

“Only at Monopoly and Candy Land.”

 “We can’t go wrong with this one, it’s a murder mystery.” John said, “You’ll both enjoy this one and won’t feel the need to cheat.”

Sherlock took the instructions from Etheldrea, read them and then looked over the game materials. He had a slight frown on his face. John passed everyone their game pieces, blue for Sherlock, green for himself, and purple for Etheldrea. Then he chose the three cards and put them in the middle of the board. He made the first move.

“I suggest it was . . . Mrs. White in the Ballroom with the . . . Candlestick.”

Etheldrea flicked through her cards and passed one to John, keeping Sherlock from seeing it. Then it was her turn. She rolled and moved her piece.

“Um, Miss Scarlett in the Study with . . . the Pipe.”

Sherlock passed her two cards and she checked them off. Then it was Sherlock’s turn.

“I want to make an accusation.”

“What?” John asked, “We only just started. You can’t have an answer yet.”

“This Mr. Body person did it himself.”

“What? No, that not how it works.”

“It’s the only possible answer.”

“No, Sherlock, you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not. I’ll check it.”

“No! It’s not in the rules! We’re looking for a murderer!”

“The rules are wrong!”

“It’s impossible!”

“It might be improbable, but nothing’s impossible.”

Sherlock grabbed the envelope packet and took out the cards. He was smiling to himself, but it slowly turned into a frown. His lips thinned and he put the cards back, and then turned and sulked. John laughed and started his turn.

“See, what did I tell you?”

Sherlock mumbled, “It was Professor Plum in the Kitchen with the Rope.”

“DAD!” Etheldrea shouted at the same time John shouted, “Oh for god’s sake!”

He threw the cards down, stood up and walked into the kitchen. He came back a moment later.

“Alright. New game. I _know_ this next one can’t go wrong.”

Sherlock groaned, “I’ve had enough of these insufferable games. Can’t we go ask Lestrade if there’s been a murder instead?”

“No, just hang on.”

John disappeared to the hall closet and came back a moment later with a deck of cards.

“Have you ever heard of Fifty-Two pick up?” he asked.

“No.”

John smirked and then bent the cards as though he was going to shuffle them, but he let them go and they scattered everywhere around the floor. He sat back on the chair by the door and crossed his arms, still smirking.

Sherlock looked down at the floor, and then back at John with a monstrous look on his face. He made no attempt to pick the cards up, only staring at John. Slowly, the smirk began to fade and John got down and started picking the cards up. Etheldrea leaned to her side and laughed into a pillow, and she couldn’t stop.

“Not in my flat. Try harder next time.” Sherlock said.

“Continue to cheat and there won’t be a next time.”

“I didn’t cheat at Cluedo.”

“You ruined the game, you told the answers!”

“They were wrong!”

“SHERLOCK!”

Etheldrea sat up, still laughing, and started to pack up. They were getting absolutely nowhere with these games, but it was one of the funniest mornings she’d had in a while.  After all the drama that had happened in the past six months, she was perfectly happy for this sort of normality.

Sherlock and John were still arguing at the moment there was knocking downstairs. She stood up and went to the window to see who it was, but the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had already let them in. She heard running up the stairs, and a girl with golden blonde hair and blue eyes entered the room and spotted Etheldrea. Her best friend, Abigail Grey, ran at her, grabbed her hands and pulled her up, dragging her towards the door. She hid her face in her hands like she was about to cry.

“Abby! What’s happened? What’s wrong?

“I’ve got some news.” She said solemnly.

“What?”

Her fun morning was shattered by two words.

“We’re moving.”

“What?” Etheldrea asked horrified.

“We’re moving.”

“Where?”

“Nineteen Star- cross Street.”

“Star-cross? But that’s so- wait.” Etheldrea saw her friend start smiling, “Star- cross is literally a two minute walk from here.”

Abigail started bouncing on her toes, I know!”

Etheldrea raised her hands in a claw gesture, “You had me thinking you were going away!”

“That was the whole point. I knew it would take a lot to fool you so I thought hiding my face would work best.”

“Well, it did. Star- cross? We can walk home or car pool and you don’t have to leave early anymore.”

“I know! But what about my brother?”

“Forget about him, he can find a different way home.”

Abigail had a twin brother names Adam, and it was no secret that he didn’t like Etheldrea. No one in her school or age group did; she showed off too much as a kid and had been labeled as a freak. However Adam had a different reasoning than the others. When they had just started out as friends over a year ago, Etheldrea had been invited to a birthday party. However, she forgot and Abigail had been upset the whole night. Adam never forgave her.

 “We’re moving next week, you could come over and help me unpack. You so much better at organization than I am.”

“Would your parents let me?”

“Don’t worry about them. It’s not like we’re going after druggies in my room.”

Abigail and Adam’s parents also didn’t like Etheldrea or Sherlock, but they had learned a long time ago they couldn’t stop the girls from being friends. So, they tolerated it and pretended their daughter was hanging out with someone else, and not getting involved in trouble like uncovering drug deals and chasing after pickpockets.

“Good point.”

Abigail stopped bouncing and quickly wrapped her arms around Etheldrea. Etheldrea returned the hug, surprisingly, and then broke it up after a moment.

“Can you stay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I don’t have to be back until eleven.”

“We’re trying to play some board games, but I think you, John, and I would be better. What do you think John?”

“Yes! Without a doubt, yes!” he agreed, ending his argument with Sherlock.

Sherlock watched them, his eyes narrow and mouth dropped in a shocked manner. He laid out on the couch, purposely stretching the entire length so that no one else could sit on it.

“You big baby.” Etheldrea said, “We’ll just play on the floor.

Abigail laughed and went to go sit down by the black lounge chair, Etheldrea with her. John grabbed the game and went to set it up by them and he too took a seat on the floor. He set Cluedo up slowly and just as he started passing out cards, Sherlock got up and went to sit with them.

For the rest of the game, he was silent about his accusations, and they all had a great time. When the game ended though, Sherlock was surprised at the three cards.

“Regardless,” he said, “I still think he killed himself.”


	2. Bribery and Below Part 2

After the Grey’s had moved, Etheldrea and Abigail were practically inseparable. They’d walked to and from school, stopping at shops or cafes now and then, going out on the weekends.  It was during one of those weekends where they sat inside a café and were chatting. While there, Etheldrea noticed a suspicious figure outside. He was a tall man, with large muscles, and was wearing a hoodie. He couldn’t be older than forty and was glancing around, his eyes flicking back and forth between people.

He started walking on the path towards the café, and then he bumped into someone. There wasn’t much of an apology and the pair walked in their directions. However, a moment later, the man who was bumped started exclaiming and pointing in his opposite direction.

“Come on!” Etheldrea said, pulling Abigail from the table and out the door.

She looked down the street and saw him running at high speed, and she pulled Abigail with her, running after him.

“What’s going on?” Abigail shouted as they ran.

“Pickpocket! Hurry before we lose sight of him!”

The girls ran down the path, through an ally and over a fence before finding themselves at the entrance of an abandoned meat company. They looked around carefully for any sign of the man, and then proceeded into the building though an archway.

They were quiet as they walked, taking care to stay close to old boxes and crates. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move and motioned for Abigail to get down. She peaked out of the corner and saw him standing with his back towards them, apparently messing on his cell phone. Then he started walking away, towards a set of stairs. When she looked up, she saw an overseer balcony where the stairs were leading right towards. If he got up there, he would see them.

Etheldrea grabbed Abigail’s hand and pulled her under the balcony, but the floor above them was still metal with punched holes and they would still be seen. She looked towards the ground and near their feet saw a hatchway.

“Call for help.” Etheldrea whispered as she opened the hatch.

"My phone's dead." Abigail said after checking.

 "It's fine, mine will do. First, get down here."

 Etheldrea slipped down the latter, landed at the bottom and motioned for Abigail to follow her. After she made it down, the looked around the basement room and were surprised to find it filled with large steel boxes.

 "What are they?" Abigail asked.

 "Walk in freezers I think."

 "There's got to be at least twenty of them."

 "This used to be a meat shipping plant. This was probably the storage."

 "Why is he hiding out here?"

 "Don't know."

 The girls walked along the floor, passing row after row of freezer. They were all in a neat line, and there were many more behind them. One thing Etheldrea noticed is that they were all in use and turned up to the highest setting. They shouldn't be, not when this place was shut down. At the end of the line, she frowned and went to open one of the doors.

 It was tough at first, but the door gave way and then Abigail screamed. Quickly Etheldrea wrapped a hand around her mouth and muffled her, and then looked inside. In the door, frozen in a slumped position was the body of a man. Etheldrea let go of Abby, shut the door, and then pulled her around the box. Etheldrea took out her phone, but found there was no signal and thrust the phone into Abigail’s hands.

 She whispered, "No doubt he’s heard you, he'll be coming. When he gets down here, I'll distract him, you get out and you go for help. Run to Scotland Yard, and call my dad. Got it?"

 Abigail looked at her, mouth agape and eyes wide. Etheldrea took her hands and started pushing her towards the back, watching the stairs carefully. They were hidden behind another freezer, out of view of the stairs but easily escapable.

 "You can do this, I know you can."

 Abigail gulped and nodded her head. Etheldrea let her go and started backing away. As she did, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and ran the rest of the way back. She slipped to the side of the second to last freezer and poked her head out. He was standing at the bottom in a predator position. Etheldrea took a deep breath, and faked tripping over.

 "Get over here you little bitch!" He yelled, running for her.

 She got up and ran forward, past two other freezers and ducked under some pipes connected to the ceiling. She went back as far as she could, granted it was only a few feet and against a wall, and the pickpocket now murderer was close to her. He ran into her view, and growled before getting on the floor and reaching under. He grabbed her ankle and she stepped on his hand. He gave a shout and let go, but tried again and this time pulled. She fell and then was pulled through.

 She kicked him in the face and he backed up clutching at his head. Etheldrea jumped up and over him and then made a break for the stairs. However, ice on the floor caused her to slip and she slammed into one of the freezers. The murderer was behind her now and grabbed her under the arms. He was stronger than she thought, and he hauled to one of the freezers. She tried kicking and hitting, but he refused to let go even as he opened the door and tossed her in. Ungracefully, she landed on the cold metal floor and was more than positive she sprained her wrist. Even worse, she heard a click noise outside the door.

* * *

Abigail ran the moment he did, and she scrambled up the latter. Her footing got the better of her and at the last step, she tripped and the phone went flying. It broken open and the battery slid under a crate. She had no time to get it so she got up and ran like hell outside. Scotland Yard was at least half an hour by foot and she had no money for a cab. If she ran, and disobeyed all traffic signs, she could knock off ten minutes at most.

* * *

Etheldrea stood up, slowly and wearily. She looked around the room, searching for something better than the floor to sit on. She was shivering already and she needed to find some form of insulation. One handed, she took her scarf off and buttoned her coat as far as it could, only just below her neck. She turned the collar flaps up and used her neck to hold them in place as she rewrapped her scarf tightly. With that done, it took several attempts to pull her arms inside her jacket. She was able to do it, and then reached under the coat to tie the empty sleeves together. It was nealy impossible, but she utilized her teeth and got it done. There was nothing she could do but keep moving, wait and hope Abigail made it out.

In a few minutes, mental confusion would start. After that, as her body temperature started to lower, she'd feel no different than the room itself, motor movements would be slower and she'd stumble most likely, and then amnesia could happen. It wouldn't take longer than half an hour for Abigail to get help. She should be fine. Maybe a shock blanket would be needed, but surely nothing too bad. If she kept moving, she could try to delay the symptoms for just a bit longer.

* * *

Didn't Etheldrea have people watching her? She said one time she had more security than the queen, where the hell were they? It took her twenty five minutes, but she finally arrived at Scotland Yard. There was a guard at the front, trying to hold her back.

 "I need to talk to Inspector Lestrade, now!"

 "Now just hold on, what's the problem? You can't just-"

 "You know Sherlock Holmes?"

 "Of course."

 "His daughter's in danger and I need to tell them!"

 "OK, come on, let's go."

 He led her towards the offices, and fortunately, Sherlock and John were already there. The moment she saw them, she ran for them.

 "Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes, Etheldrea's in trouble!" she shouted.

 "Where?" He asked.

 "This- meat packaging place. It's near Cadogen Pier."

 "I know where it is, let's go."

 "Wait, he's a murderer. We thought he was a pickpocket but he killed someone." She called after them as they ran out.

 Lestrade heard and started making calls for backup. Outside, Lestrade rushed the group into his car and they we off.

 "What happened?" Sherlock asked.

 "Etheldrea saw a guy steal something, we ran after him, got to this warehouse place to look for him, nearly got spotted and went to hide in this basement place, found like a billion freezers and a dead guy in one of them. I screamed, he heard, she told me to run while she distracted him."

* * *

Etheldrea was limping around the room, trying to keep the action going through her mind. If she stopped, she'd be dead. . . However, she didn't know why. But she had been telling herself to keep moving, so that's what she was doing. But she was so tired and her hand hurt every time she moved about, and the floor was starting to look inviting. Maybe a quick sit down would be alright. She kneeled on the ground and closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt as though she was falling and quickly stirred.

 For a small moment, she remembered why she had to keep moving. Hypothermia had set in and was quickly turning severe. But hypothermia happened in the cold, and she wasn’t cold. Was she? Trapped in a freezer and she wasn't cold. That didn't make a lot of sense. Why was she trapped? Why didn't she try to get out?

 She tried to stand up, but her legs gave out and she fell. She frowned when she realized her arms were inside her jacket and the sleeves were tied together. When had that happened? Who did it? Why did it hurt? She tried to get out but it was too hard, and all that effort was making her tired. If she closed her eyes for just a minute, she could get some energy back. She'd be just fine.

* * *

The car stopped outside the building and men immediately began searching the perimeter. Abigail tried running towards the entrance but an officer pulled her back.

 "We can't let civilians in a crime scene." Lestrade explained.

 "They get to go!"

 "They're a special case."

 "She's my best friend!"

 "Lestrade," Sherlock called, "I need her to show me the scene."

 Lestrade sighed, "For a minute then, but wait until it’s all clear."

 So they waited, and after a few minutes they heard over a radio the suspect was running towards the right side entrance. At this, Sherlock and John ran inside, with Abigail trailing them. They saw the man make an exit with several officers after him. John started after the man but Sherlock called for him.

 "He's getting away!" John shouted.

 "Let the Yard deal with him. Did you notice the lack of Etheldrea with him?"

 Abigail ran over the door she and Etheldrea had gone through to the basement.

 "Down here." She called and started down.

 "Abigail, wait!" Sherlock called.

 "She's not down here." She shouted.

 Sherlock climbed down and looked around.

 "Where could she be?" Abigail asked.

 "He wasn't acting like she was loose inside the building. I think he incapacitated her. Did you run from here?"

 "Yes."

 "It took you twenty to twenty five to get here, another ten on the drive back, and an extra five while we waited. She's down here, has been anytime between five and forty minutes."

 Abigail started opening a door and Sherlock followed suit. John came down along with Lestrade and a few officers, and they started searching. Half the freezers were empty, but as they neared the back, bodies were being found. Sherlock reached one of the second to last boxes in a row and tried to open the door, but he found it was locked with a padlock.

 "She's here!" He shouted.

 One officer called for bolt cutters and they were delivered within a minute. As soon as the locked was gone, Sherlock threw open the door and looked inside. Lying on the ground, back towards the door, was Etheldrea. Sherlock rushed towards her while unbuttoning and shrugging off his coat. He turned her towards him. She was unconscious, her lips were an unhealthy blue and her skin was ice cold, but she was breathing.

 He lifted her up and wrapped his coat around her, and then picked her up and hurried out the door. John saw him and started up the latter and waited so that he could lift Etheldrea up. At the same time, he told so done to call for an ambulance.

 As soon as she was in his arms, Sherlock was up and taking her back. Abigail and Lestrade followed after them.

 "Is she alright?" Abigail asked quickly.

 "She will be. Another hour and she would've been dead." Sherlock said.

The ambulance showed up and immediately set to work. Lestrade reluctantly stayed behind to watch over the work here. John said he would follow Sherlock, along with Abigail. John walked her outside and then sat her down on the ground. He sat next to her and watched as officers walked by, forensics teams arrived, and people stopped to watch everything.

 "Aren't we going to the hospital?" She asked.

 "In a moment. Let’s take a minute to breath though."

 "She's going to fine, right?"

 "Yep. In fact, she should be able to leave by nighttime. It’s just a matter of getting her body temperature back to normal."

 "Good."

 "What you did today, that was very brave."

 She shook her head, "I should have stayed with her."

 "Not at all. You did the right thing coming for us."

 "But he might not have noticed me. If I had stayed hidden, I could have helped her."

 "You did help. You saved her life."

 "Nearly too late."

 "Let’s count nearly as a victory."

 "Can we go to the hospital now?"

 "Yeah. Call your parents and let them know."

 "I can't. My phone died before we got here, and then I accidently broke Etheldrea's. The case is somewhere in there, and I think the battery went under a box."

 John pulled out his, "Here, use mine."

 He stood and then helped her up, and then they went to hail a cab.

* * *

About forty minutes after falling under in the freezer, Etheldrea was finally waking up. The lights were bright at first, but she got used to it after a moment. She turned her head to see Sherlock sat by her bedside reading a magazine.

“Woman’s Digest?” she mumbled, her speech a bit slow, “Really?”

“They don’t have My Weekly. I keep telling you and John, all of life can be found in the personal columns.”

She chuckled, “Sure. So, how long?”

“Not very, not enough to be lose to death.”

“Well, that’s good. And Abigail?”

“Cafeteria about fifteen minutes ago. John’s with them I think.”

She nodded, “Ok. Any idea when I can leave?”

“Anytime you want, though it would be against doctor’s word.”

“Let’s wait until Abby and John come back.”

“By the way, John doesn’t think you should chase pickpockets without us anymore.”

She rolled her eyes, “Not everyone is a murderer.”

“That’s what I said.”

She tried sitting up, but hissed when her left hand felt like it had been shocked.

“You sprained your wrist. Minor, should heal in a couple of days.” Sherlock mumbled, looking back at his magazine.

“Great. Just great.”

“You can’t complain, you did it to yourself.”

“Well excuse me for having a man twice my size throw me in a freezer. What happened to him anyway?”

“Caught. Didn’t expect anyone to be coming so he stuck around for a while. How kind of him.” Sherlock didn’t look at her, but his grip on the paper tightened.

“I’m fine, chill out.”

“Etheldrea.”

“It’s all cool.”

“No. Stop.”

“No need to be so frosty.”

“You’re hanging out with Abby too much.”

 “Ice-see what you’re saying. I’m not stopping until you laugh.”

 He glared at her, “Terribly sorry I don’t find the situation all that funny. I have reason to believe this was part of a set up. You should know, there’s someone else connected to the murderer. He said so himself.”

“Who?”

* * *

 Mycroft Holmes was waiting patiently in his office, unaware of the events transpiring in his family. His security had alerted him twenty minutes ago that he would be receiving a visit soon and he knew exactly who it was. Already, he had a guard waiting in the corner of the room. The man meeting him entered the room, a devilish smile on his face and brown-black eyes bouncing around.

 "Jim Moriarty." Mycroft greeted sardonically.

 "Mr. Holmes, a pleasure to meet you. Forgive me for being late; I took a little stop to Baker Street."

 "Why are you here?"

 "I just want to ask your opinion."

 "About?"

 "Your security. What do you think of them?"

 "They're sufficient at best."

 "I see. I see why. Your niece, she has a lot of security on her. They can be taken care of quickly though. You just need either bribery or below negative fifty degrees.”

Mycroft stood up and said to the guard, “Seize him.”


	3. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 1

Monday the next week, Etheldrea’s wrist was fully healed, and Abigail had stopped feeling guilty about the ordeal. Cases came and finished each day, and school was starting to pile on work, prepping for the end of the year already. If she could make it two more weeks, she’d be on Easter break. Etheldrea was very much looking forward to a break after spending nearly a full week out of Baker Street doing case work, school, or hanging out with Abigail.

Etheldrea was currently sleeping, a past time she enjoyed unlike her father. However, this morning he would not be so kind. She woke up with him entering her room, brandishing a harpoon and telling her to get ready for the day. She grumbled and turned over onto her stomach to look at her clock.

“Dad, why the hell are we getting up at five in the bloody morning? I go to school in another three hours. Why do you have a harpoon?”

“Get dressed and you’ll see. Don’t wear anything you don’t want messy.” Sherlock replied as he left the room.

Etheldrea groaned as she flopped her head on her pillow. A moment later, she got out of bed and dressed. She passed the stairs as she left and heard John still snoring. She groaned again and walked to the kitchen where a banana was flung at her. She didn’t catch it and it fell to the floor after hitting her in the leg. Sherlock stood with his back to her at the counter, writing something down in front of him after having apparently grabbed the fruit and tossed it as she entered the room.

She looked at Sherlock as if he had lost his mind, “John’s not even up, you’re flinging fruit at me, and there’s a harpoon. This is weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

“A murder. Lestrade called me around four. Eat.”

She yawned and picked up the banana and started to peel it, “Did you even sleep last night?”

“No, did you?”

“Of course I did. I like sleep. In my room, under my covers in my nice warm bed. Where I should be now. Not all of us run on batteries like you do.”

“You might as well.”

“I take longer to recharge.”

“Not as much, you’re making fine comebacks, now eat and let’s go.”

She took a bite and followed him as he went down the stairs.

“What about John?” she asked.

“He’s not coming. Just you and me for the morning.”

That perked Etheldrea up a bit. As much as she enjoyed John’s company, she did miss the days when it had been her and her dad. There was no doubt she’d prefer to have him around of course, but she was more than slightly human, and goddammit she wanted time with her dad.

Outside, her dad opened the door of a cab for her and she climbed in. Ways away, they stopped outside a butchers, specifically Roger’s Place. It was an old shop, and owned by a rather sweet man in Etheldrea’s opinion. However, he was not a fan of her father.

“Why are we here?” she asked as they stood outside.

“I need a pig, average sized and access to the back room.”

“Then why am I- of course.” Her mood deflated just a bit.

“He likes you. Tell him I’ll pay.”

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and mumbled about five in the morning under her breath, and then went inside. A little bell rang as she entered, and a moment later a buff man walked towards the counter. He smiled when he saw her and gestured his arms around, flinging some drop of hopefully animal blood around.

“Etheldrea!” he exclaimed, “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor. I need a pig, average size but can be smaller.”

“Sure, anything else?”

“Can I take it to the back room?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, you see, my dad-“

“Sherlock Holmes is he here?” he looked around. “He’s not allowed near anymore of my meat, not if he’s going to use it to prove some murder victims death. The police suspected me for weeks! Do you know how hard it was for me to gain back my reputation?”

“He’s outside; he said he would pay for everything.” She assured.

“And if I say no?”

* * *

“You could have just told me to find somewhere else.” Sherlock grumbled as he wrote out a rather expensive check.

“Oh come on, you owe him and you know it.” Etheldrea said.

Sherlock gave the check over to Rodger, and then quickly hurried to start stabbing the pig. Etheldrea followed him and took a seat on a clean counter, out of the way from the spray zone. There was no way she was going to let herself be covered in pig’s blood.

For nearly an hour, Sherlock speared away at the pig body and soon covered part of the room ceiling to floor. The smell was terrible, and Etheldrea’s head was starting to get dizzy. It was a relief when her dad’s phone vibrated next to her. It was a text from Lestrade.

  **Case solved. Cairns confessed.**

 She put the phone down and called over Sherlock. He stopped his maniac like harpooning for a moment and listen to the news. He looked disappointed, and also like a bloody mess. Pig’s blood covered him head to toe, streaking his hair and face, and staining his shirt. Etheldrea shook her head and stood up.

 "I cannot believe this. You wake me up at _five_ in the bloody morning; take me to get you a _pig_ , and then _boom_ , murderer confesses. Thank _so much_ for this _wonderful_ experience." She said sarcastically.

 "I'm just as disappointed as you are."

 He started to walk towards the front doors.

 "Wait, don't you want to clean up first?" She asked.

 "Why? I don't have a change of clothes, and then those would still stain."

 "Yeah, but people are going to call the police."

 "We'll get a cab right away then."

 Getting a cab was not as easy as he thought it would be. After several taxi's slowing, seeing him, and then driving faster, Etheldrea told him to get back and she would hail one. However, when she did, the driver informed her Sherlock wasn't allowed. So, like any good daughter, she told him to take the tube, and then got in the taxi.

 When she arrived back at Baker Street, John was up and making breakfast, and she filled him in on what happened, leaving out that she left him outside he butchers. Another half hour later, Sherlock walked into the flat, still covered in blood and brandishing the harpoon. Etheldrea, on the sofa, barely gave him a glance while John stared nearly horror struck.

 "Well that was tedious." Sherlock grumbled.

 "You went on the tube like that?" John asked.

 "None of the cabs would take me." He replied resentfully.

 He walked towards his bedroom, hopefully going to go wash off. John looked over to Etheldrea.

 "I thought you said he _choose_ to go on the tube."

 "I'm not the most reliable database John. I forget things, twist them around, and besides he woke me up at five in the morning."

 He smirked, "That's my girl."

* * *

Shortly after his shower and change, Sherlock was rampaging around the room with the harpoon. His blue dressing gown swished after him, barely having a moment of rest as he paced in desperate need of a case.

“Nothing?” Sherlock asked as John looked over a newspaper.

“Military coup in Uganda.” John said, with a smile, “Another photo of you with the . . .”

Sherlock saw the photo of him in the dreaded deerstalker and groaned.

“Oh, um, Cabinet re-shuffle.”

“He’s not Mycroft,” Etheldrea said, “He doesn’t care.”

Sherlock was impatient, Nothing of importance! OH GOD! John, I need some. Get me some!”

“No.” he replied after a sarcastic pause.

Etheldrea glared at him, “You know what Uncle Mycroft will do, and I’m not looking forward to spending the next eight months and three days with him. I will kill myself before that happens.”

About two weeks ago, Etheldrea had found a stash of cigarettes in a slipper her father had. She told John, and they both confronted Sherlock, leading to a search of the entire flat and then also around town to the dealers. It was pure luck Mycroft hadn’t found out, but incredibly unlucky that Sherlock’s behavior was off the charts.

 “Get me some!” Sherlock demanded.

“No!” John argued, raising a scolding finger, “Cold turkey. We agreed. No matter what. Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you any.”

“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?”

Etheldrea still glared and John cleared his throat, reminding Sherlock it was his own idea.

“Mrs. Hudson!” he called before throwing a pile of papers to the floor and then destroying the rest of the area.

“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well. Don’t give up now.”

“Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me.” He looked up with forlorn at Etheldrea, “Please.”

“Can’t help, sorry.” She replied.

“I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.” After John chuckled he said, “Oh it was worth a try.”

He made a mad dash towards the fireplace and grabbed the slipper he had hidden cigarettes in. He thought it worth the second check and still found it empty, and then tossed it aside and searched the rest of the fireplace.

“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Hudson.

“My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?”

“Hey?”

“Cigarettes. What have you done with them? Where are they?”

“You know you never let me touch your things. Chance would be a fine thing.”

“I thought you _weren’t_ my housekeeper?”

“I’m not.”

Sherlock groaned and stood up, stalking back towards the harpoon, missing John signal Mrs. Hudson for tea.

“How about a nice cuppa? And perhaps you could put away your harpoon.”

“I need something stronger than tea. Perhaps seven percent stronger.”

He swung the harpoon up and pointed it at Mrs. Hudson making her gasp. Etheldrea rolled her eyes and stood up, ready to take it away from him.

“You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.”

“Pardon?”

“Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour in the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.”

“Sherlock.” Both John and Etheldrea warned.

“Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch-cards again. We all know where that leads don’t we?”

Etheldrea leaned forward and tried to grab the harpoon but he sniffed the air and swung it out of her way.

“Hmm, Casbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? Even Etheldrea doesn’t wear perfume like that when she goes to stare inside that café every Saturday. I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website. You should look it up!”

“I don’t go every Saturday!” Etheldrea shouted, “Once a month!”

“I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee.” he said talking to Mrs. Hudson, “He’s got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about.”

“Sherlock!” John shouted.

“Well, nobody except me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t!” she turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Etheldrea groaned and took the harpoon away, stashing it behind the desk chair. Sherlock jumped into his seat.

“What the bloody hell was all that about?” John asked, slamming the newspaper in his armrest.

Sherlock sighed, “You don’t understand.”

“Go after her and apologize.”

Sherlock looked up from his fetal position, “Apologize?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Oh John, I envy you so much.”

“You envy me?”

“Your mind. It’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine racing out of control. A rocket tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!”

He threw his hands up, “You just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently.”

“Ah! That was this morning! When’s the next one? Etheldrea, how do you stand it?”

She shrugged, “My mind quiets when you’re in the room.”

“Nothing on the website?” John asked.

Sherlock stood up and grabbed his laptop which he then passed to John. He walked to the window and recited the only case on his page.

“’Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please, can you help?’”

“Bluebell?”

“A rabbit, John! Ah but there’s more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous.” He said in a childlike voice, “’Like a fairy!’ according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry.”

He paused like he had an epiphany, “What am I saying? This is brilliant. Phone Lestrade, tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.”

“You’re serious?”

“It’s this or Cluedo.”

“Ah, no.” John replied as he stood and went to put the laptop back “We are never playing that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.”

“It was the only possible solution.”

“It’s not in the rules.”

“Well, then the rules are wrong!”

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Etheldrea groaned.

“Single ring.” John said.

“Maximum pressure, just under the half-second.”

“Client!” They all said at the same time.

Etheldrea had been about to grab her bag and go meet up with Abigail for school, but instead she grabbed her phone, sent a message to her, and then tossed it to Sherlock.

“Call my school, call me in.”

“Why?”

“There is no chance in hell that I’m going to leave you in this state with John and a client.”

Etheldrea walked downstairs and welcomed the client in. He was a nervous man and was shaking slightly. She led him upstairs just in time to hear her dad end his call with “No wonder your husband’s having an affair.”

“Thanks dad.” She said sarcastically, “Detention tomorrow? Never had a better day.”

“The last time you had detention was three years ago. I hardly think she’ll blame it on you. Not unless you’re the one her husband’s sleeping with.”

“God no. Gross.”

John had the client sit down in his chair, and he took the one at the desk. Sherlock sat in his chair, and Etheldrea took a seat on the sofa.

“My name is Henry Knight.” The client said, “I, uh, well, you see- um. I have a video.”

He pulled out a DVD from his jacket which Sherlock took and put into the player. It showed rolling hillsides and rock formations, and also what looked like a laboratory site.

The woman on the screen said, _“Dartmoor. It’s always been a place of myth and legend. But is there something else lurking out here? Something very real. Because Dartmoor is also home to one of the government’s most secretive operations, the Chemical and Biological Weapons Research Centre, which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there have been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments. Genetic mutations. Animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that with in this compound in the heart of the ancient wilderness, there are horror beyond imagining. But the real question is, are all of them still inside?”_

The scene cut to Henry, _“I was just a kid. It was on the moor, it was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father.”_


	4. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 2

Sherlock shut the TV off and turned to Henry, “What did you see?”

“Oh, I  . . . I was just about to say.” He replied pointing at the screen.

“Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing.”

“Yes. Of course.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a napkin to blow his nose.

“In your own time.” John said.

“But quite quickly.” Sherlock added.

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, stood up and walked over to the desk. She grabbed the other chair and pulled it up right beside him. She gave an innocent smile when he stared and looked toward Henry.  It took him a bit to speak again, and when he did he was quiet. She knew exactly what would be happening soon.

“Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?”

“No.”

“It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else, it’s sort of bleak but beautiful.”

“Hmm. Not interested, moving on.”

Etheldrea shot him a look, but he ignored her, and Henry continued on.

“We used to go for walks after my Mum died, my Dad and me. Every evening we’d go out onto the moor.”

“Yes, good, skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?”

“Dad.” Etheldrea gave a warning.

Henry said, “There’s a place, it’s sort of a local landmark called Dewer’s Hollow.”

He looked to them if they knew it and Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s an ancient name for the Devil.” Henry explained.

“So?” Sherlock shrugged again.

John asked, “Did you see the devil that night?”

He nodded, “Yes. It was huge. Cold black fur with red eyes. It got him, tore at him. Tore him apart. I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning just wandering on the moor. My dad’s body was never found.

John looked to both of the Holmes, “Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous dog? Wolf?”

“Or a genetic experiment.” Sherlock added, giving a small smile to Etheldrea who rolled her eyes.

Henry didn’t look amused, “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?”

“Why, are you joking?”

“My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.”

“And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism.”

John leaned forward and took control of the situation. Sherlock rolled his eyes when he saw.

“Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?” John asked.

Henry glared at Sherlock, “I’m not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny.”

He stood up and started to walk towards the door, but he stopped when Sherlock spoke.

“Because of what happened last night.”

“Why, what happened last night?” John asked.

“How ... how do you know?” Henry asked.

“I didn’t know; I noticed.” Sherlock replied, and John looked unamused.

In a rapid fire, Sherlock began his deductions, “You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.”

“No.” Etheldrea said to him sternly, “Don’t you dare get any ideas.”

Henry stared and then when to sit back down, “How on earth did you notice all that?”

“It’s not important-” John started to say but Sherlock interrupted him.

“Punched-out holes where your ticket’s been checked.”

“Not now, Sherlock.”

“Oh, please. I’ve been cooped up in here for ages.”

“It’s been two hour’s.” Etheldrea said.

John added, “You’re just showing off.”

 “Of course. I am a show-off. That’s what _we do_.” Sherlock replied, and then turned back to Henry, “The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.”

Henry cracked a bit, “How did you know it was disappointing?”

“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl, female handwriting’s quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off I imagine, you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers, your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It’s just after nine fifteen. You’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?”

Henry said awestruck, “No. You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.”

“It’s my job. Now shut up and smoke.”

“Henry, go ahead.” Etheldrea said sweetly, and then turned venomous with Sherlock, “Don’t you dare thing about it. Do you want me living with Uncle Mycroft? Because I sure as hell don’t.”

John frowned and Etheldrea prepared to go as far as sit on top of Sherlock. Never before in her life had he been this desperate for a smoke. He had been doing so well, but then Uncle Mycroft just had to give him one during Christmas. He had been screwed up ever since.

John said, trying to ignore them both, “Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?”

Henry started to say, “I know. That . . . my-“

He had lit a cigarette and after he blew his first lung full, Sherlock attempted to get up and sniff the air. Etheldrea, however, grabbed the back of his white shirt and applied a death grip to it, nearly choking him.

John said, “That must be a ... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this-“

With another lungful leaving his mouth, Sherlock again tried to lean forward and inhale, but Etheldrea stood in front of him and pushed him back. He glared at her the entire time.

“- to account for it?” John finished.

“That’s what Doctor Mortimer says.”

“Who?”

“His therapist.” The other three in the room replied at the same time.

“Obviously.” Sherlock said with a fake smile.

Henry explained, “Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.”

“And what happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?”

“It’s a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier. What did you see?”

“Footprints, on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.”

Exasperated, Sherlock leaned back in his seat. Etheldrea sat back down too, feeling just a bit disappointed in this. Of course there’s going to be footprints, anything could go exploring.

John asked, “Man’s or a woman’s?”

“Neither. They were-“

Sherlock interrupted, “Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?”

“Yes, but they were-“

“No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Please, come smoke again when _she’s_ not here.” He said, pointing to Etheldrea.

“No, but what about the footprints?”

“Oh, they’re probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing.” He gestured toward the door, “Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me.”

Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen, heading for his phone, “Etheldrea, I’ll call you in late. Would do you good to get out of the flat.”

Henry turned towards Sherlock and said, “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”

Sherlock stopped moving and then turned back, “Say that again.”

“I found the footprints; they were-“

“No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.”

“Mr. Holmes . . . they were the footprints of a gigantic . . . hound.”

He almost smiled, “I’ll take the case.”

“Sorry, what?” John asked.

Sherlock started to pace the room, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It’s very promising.”

Etheldrea narrowed her eyes some and watched her father closely. John was very confused.

“No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they’re very promising?”

“It’s nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren’t listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it? Etheldrea?”

“Vaguely. It’s very hush-hush.” John said.

Etheldrea said, “It might have been mentioned once during Bio.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

“Ah! You’ll come down, then?” Henry asked.

“No, I can’t leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don’t worry; I’m putting my best man and woman onto it. He walked over to John and patted his shoulder while smiling at Etheldrea, “Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself. Etheldrea helps him along.”

John said, “What are you talking about, you’re busy? You don’t have a case! A minute ago you were complaining-“

“Bluebell, John! I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow in the dark rabbit! NATO’s in uproar.”

Henry was confused too, “Oh, sorry, no, you’re not coming, then?”

Faking regret, Sherlock shook his head with a puppy dog expression.

“Oh. Okay.” John said when he realized what Sherlock wanted.

Etheldrea smirked, “Too bad, I threw them all out.”

John looked a bit guilty and she frowned, “John?”

“There might be one pack around.”

“ _What?”_

“There wasn’t enough time; he was coming up so I had to be quick. I swear, I was going to throw them out as soon as he left the room.”

John stood up and walked over to the fireplace and lifted the skull off the mantle place. He took out a pack of cigarettes and tossed them to Sherlock. Then almost immediately, Sherlock tossed them to Etheldrea.

“I don’t need those any more. I’m going to Dartmoor.” Sherlock replied while Etheldrea looked relieved, “You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow later.”

Henry stood up, “Sorry, so you are coming?”

“Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

Sherlock walked out of the room, and Henry looked relieved and a bit unsettled.

“Is he always like that?” he asked.

Etheldrea sighed and nodded, “Usually, although the smoking desperation is relatively new. I’m going to kill him, I swear.”

John laughed, “Sometimes I wonder who takes care of who.”

“A burden I have to bear.” She muttered sarcastically.

They said goodbye to Henry, and then Etheldrea went to the bathroom and flushed the pack down the toilet. Then she went to pack for the trip. She grabbed enough clothes for a few days, and then several books and some other essentials. She walked back into the living room just as Sherlock did, on his phone.

“Holmes, Etheldrea, yes. . . . Uh, chicken pox. . . . I just said that, yes. . . . Of course not, look, I’m her father; I can take her out of school if I want. She’s sick and a liability to other children. Shouldn’t you be worried about that or something? . . . Year eleven. . . Goodbye.”

Etheldrea looked at her father like he was crazy, “Chicken pox? You really expected them to think I have chicken pox?”

“Oh shut up, it worked.”

“You do know it says on my records I have my shots, right?”

“Strong case.”

“Do you even hear about chicken pox anymore? I think it’s just about died out.”

“They accepted it anyways.”

“Why didn’t you just say you were taking me on vacation?”

“Because the last time I did that, you complained about your teachers complaining.”

She shook her head, and sat down on the sofa, pulling out a book and waiting for them to leave. A little while later, Sherlock grabbed his bags and hers, went to call a cab, and she followed him outside. John would be down in a moment, and while they waited, there was entertainment going on in the shop.

Muffled through the glass door, Etheldrea saw Mrs. Hudson yelling and raving at who she presumed to be Mr. Chatterjee. The man was back up in a corner, and Mrs. Hudson was angrier than when Sherlock had broken a vase she received form her sister and blamed it on Etheldrea.

_“I cannot believe this! You rotten old coot! We were supposed to go-“_

John walked out of the door carrying his bags and then looked into the shop as he heard Mrs. Hudson shouting. He joined the Holmes’ by the cab as they watched.

 _“-cruise together!”_ Mrs. Hudson yelled, _“You had no intention of taking me on it!”_

John recoiled as she threw a bag of flour at the shop door.

He said, “Oh! Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.”

Sherlock said, “Mmm. Wait ’til she finds out about the one in Islamabad.”

John sniggered and got into the cab, setting his bags with Sherlock’s and Etheldrea’s. Etheldrea got in next, followed by Sherlock.

“Paddington Station, please.” Sherlock said to the driver.

It was a short drive to the station, and then they were boarding, and got to their seats. About an hour into the train ride, John went to the bathroom, leaving the other two alone. Etheldrea was reading when Sherlock ripped a piece of a napkin and stuck it on the page. She glared up at him, hating having been interrupted.

“You do know I’d never let your Uncle take you away, right? Especially now that you’re only eight months away from turning eighteen.”

She sighed, closed the book and leaned back, “I know, but the threat’s still there.”

“It’s not going to happen. Besides, I could go for something worse than cigarettes. That’s what he should worry about.”

She shook her head, “Don’t you dare mention it. Anyway, about the case, what do you think killed his father. I mean, he did say it tore him to pieces, and unless there are any blood thirsty lions around, I don’t think there’d be anything that bad there.”

“We’ll have to wait and see. Maybe check out the moor later tonight.”

“Before dinner, right?”

He shook his head, “No, afterwards.”

She inhale deeply and let it out, and then went back to her book, “Okay.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You won’t have to come with.”

“I _said_ I’ll be fine.” She said through gritted teeth.

“I thought you had outgrown-“

John was coming back and she hissed at him to shut up. She went back to her book and John looked between them.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Not looking up, Etheldrea replied, “Never been better.”


	5. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 3

When they arrived in Exeter, they quickly located a rental car facility and it surprised John to know that Sherlock could drive. Or, at least that he had a valid driver’s license. He was entirely thankful that halfway to Grimpen Village there were no other cars on the road. Sherlock was a truly lousy driver, and even Etheldrea seemed a bit disturbed by the trip, keeping her hand on the interior handle.

They made a stop on the way. Sherlock drove them to a spot where they could see the entire area. He climbed on top of some rocks and looked over everything while John pulled out a map and Etheldrea took pictures. She thought the area was absolutely beautiful and texted pictures to Abigail.

 “There’s Baskerville.” John pointed over to the factory like buildings, and then behind him, “Uh, that’s Grimpen village. So that must be . . . Yes, Dewer’s Hollow.”

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked, pointing to the fended area.

“Umm, A minefield? Technically, Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.”

“Clearly.” He muttered.

“Hey dad,” Etheldrea called, “Think we could go dig one up?”

“I don’t see why not.”

John shook his head, “No, absolutely not.”

“Why?” Etheldrea asked.

“You don’t need a bloody landmine.”

“Come on, how many teenagers can say they have a landmine John, how many?”

“Not a single one, and never will one.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine, didn’t want one anyway.”

She put her phone in her jacket and then went to climb up on the rocks with Sherlock. She sat down, swinging her legs back and forth as she looked over the fields. She looked up at her father as he stood, tall and with his coat billowing in the slight breeze.

He looked like Batman.

He looked down at her, and said quietly, “Stick near me or John tonight.”

“Obviously.” She scoffed, “It’s not like I plan to go prancing through a dark forest in search of an apparent demonic dog by myself.”

“Hound. Say hound. It’s important.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

* * *

As they drive up to the Cross Key’s Inn, Etheldrea saw a man, just a bit older than her, talking with a group of people who were obviously tourists. They parked and went to walk to the registration desk. The man, the guide was talking about the tours, and giving a cheesy warning. As they passed, Sherlock pulled up his cot collar and earned questioning glances from both John and Etheldrea.

“It’s cold.” He replied.

Etheldrea smirked, “Sure.”

Sherlock walked around while John went to order rooms. Etheldrea followed him and stood by, looking around and grabbing a menu. A moment later, one of the owners, Gary, came back and handed John the keys.

“Eh, sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys.”

“That’s fine. We’re not-“ John stopped when he saw that “knowing” smile on his face, ignored and passed the money, “There you go.”

“Ta. I’ll just get you’re change.”

“Ta.”

John sighed and looked around the bar, stopping to stare at a receipt holder. He looked up and then quickly grabbed a slip before the owner came back and stuffed it in his pocket. Etheldrea put the menu down and went to stand close by him just as the owner came back.

“There you go.” He said, placing the change in John’s hand.

“Uncle John,” she said a bit loud, “I couldn’t help but noticing, on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones? Do you know what they mean?”

“I saw that too, I’m not sure.”

The owner raised his head, “Oh that.”

“Pirates?” John asked.

“Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it.”

“Oh, right.”

“It’s not what you think. It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for eighty odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there anymore.”

“Explosives?” John asked, pressing for more information.

“Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and if you’re lucky you just get blown up, so they say. In case you were planning a nice wee stroll.”

“Ta, we’ll remember.”

“Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank god for the demon hound. Did you see that show? The documentary?”

“Quite recently, yeah.”

“God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.”

Etheldrea thinned her lips, and asked more sharply than she intended, “Have you ever seen it? The Hound?”

He didn’t appear to notice, “Me? No, no. Fletcher has.”

He pointed outside the door where Sherlock was, “He runs the walks, the monster walks, for the tourists, you know? He’s seen it.”

“That’s handy. For trade.” John said.

At that moment, the second owner came round and joined the conversation.

“I’ve just been saying, we’ve been rushed off our feet, Billy.” Gary said.

He nodded, “Yeah, lots of monster hunters. Doesn’t take much these days. One mention on twitter and woomph! We’re out of WKD.”

Gary left for a moment to grab a refill, and Billy stayed to continue giving information.

“What with the monster and the ruddy prisoner, I don’t know how we sleep nights, do you, Gary?”

“Like a baby.” He replied, coming back around.

“That’s not true. He’s a snorer. Is yours a snorer?”

Etheldrea laughed, “My Uncle John here is a snorer. My dad, he hardly ever sleeps.”

Billy nodded, “Oh I see.”

“Got any crisps?” John asked.

At that moment, Sherlock came up and pulled her aside. He passed her a cylinder.

“Put this on, and then go out and try to get as much information from the Fletcher as you can. See if he has evidence.”

Etheldrea opened the cylinder and found someone’s lipstick. She glared at Sherlock, unwilling to go through another one of these shows.

“I’m not having another Raz.” She said.

“He lives here, you live in London. The time difference is far too much. Now, go!”

She rolled her eyes, but complied. First she grabbed a napkin and wiped up the used part of the lipstick before applying it.

“Please anticipate things like these.” She said, “I’d rather not have to use some stranger’s stolen lipstick.”

Next she took her jacket off, passed it to him, and for good measure, lowered her shirt. She rolled her eyes again at the ridiculous situation. Then, she turned around, and walked out the door, putting on a coy smile. She acted nervous some, before walking up to Fletcher’s table.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked.

He turned, did a double take, and looked her over from head to toe. She resisted grimacing, and sat when he gave a flirty smile and gestured a hand to the empty seat.

“It’s not true, is it? You haven’t actually seen this Hound thing?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes a bit, “You with the papers?”

“No! Nothing like that. Just . . . curious about, you know, things. Have you seen it?”

He smiled flirty again, “Maybe.”

“Got any proof?” she asked the same.

“What would I get in return?”

She shrugged, “Make an offer.”

He leaned in close and then smirked, “I don’t think so. You’re what, sixteen, seventeen?”

She frowned, “Why would that matter?”

“Sorry sweetheart, but I saw you walk in with your dad. I try to keep away from those girls.”

She sighed and then turned on her seat and called towards the Inn, “Sorry dad, bet’s off.”

“Bet?” Fletcher asked, standing up.

Sherlock and John walked out and came to sit down with Etheldrea. He passed her coat and sighed too.

“My plan needs darkness. We’ve got another half an hour of light.” Sherlock said, looking at his watch.

“Sorry dad, guess you were right.”

“Wait, what bet?” Fletcher asked.

“Oh, I bet my dad fifty quid that you could prove you’d seen the Hound. As usual, he didn’t believe me.  Thought maybe, just this once, I could beat him. But nope, there goes my allowance, _again_.”

Fletcher smiled and chuckled at Sherlock, “Well, you’re going to lose your money mate.”

Sherlock asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn’t make much out.”

“I see. No witnesses, I suppose.”

“No, but-“

“Never are.”

“Wait.” He showed a blurry photo to Sherlock, “There.”

Sherlock laughed, “Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, Ethel. I win.

“Wait, wait. That’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a . . . bad sort of feeling.”

“Ooh!! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?”

“Nah, don’t be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville, escaped.”

“A clone, a super-dog?”

“Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit.”

Sherlock nodded towards the photo, “Is that the best you’ve got?”

He hesitated for just a moment, “I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing’ but he never showed up, well, not ’til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. ‘I’ve seen things today, Fletch,’ he said, ‘that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.’ He’d been sent to some secret Army place. Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there, the really secret labs, he said he’d seen . . . terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs . . .”

He reached into his bag and pull out a stone molding of a giant dog’s foot print, “Dogs the size of horses.”

It had to be at least seven inches from claw to heel, and claws each an inch. All three looked at it in shock, and Etheldrea smirked.

“You did say fifty?” she asked.

Sherlock glared at her and pulled out a note from his coat and gave it to her. She took the money triumphantly. He stood up and stalked away, and John followed after.

“Thanks.” Etheldrea said to Fletcher and then followed them too.

* * *

Baskerville, Sherlock had said she asked where they were going. One of the top most secret army bases in the country, maybe even the world, and they were heading right for it.

“Um, dad? How am _I_ going to get in?”

“Your with me.” He replied, “They’ll have to. Orders and all that.”

The car stopped just outside the entrance gate and a guard came around and asked for a pass. Sherlock pulled one out and handed it to him. They had to wait a moment while it was checked out.

“We got ID for Baskerville? How?”

“It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um . . . acquired it ages ago, just in case.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “Of course. The top security of an army base is going to let ‘Mycroft Holmes’ niece in.”

“You’ll be fine. Act natural.”

“Brilliant.” John said doubtfully, “We’ll get caught.”

“No, we won’t. Well, not just yet.” Sherlock said.

“Caught in five minutes. ‘Oh hi! We just thought we’d come in and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.’ ‘Really? Great! Come in, kettle’s just boiled.’ That’s if we don’t get shot.”

The guard came back a moment later and handed the card to Sherlock, “Here you are.”

“Thank you very much.”

As they drove in, John sighed, “Mycroft’s name literally opens doors.”

“I’ve told you. He practically is the British Government. I reckon we got about twenty minutes before they realize something’s wrong. Fifteen, if Etheldrea doesn’t play her part right.”

Etheldrea asked in a flowery voice, “Uncle Mycroft, whatever do you mean?”

The car stopped, and after they got out they followed a uniformed man to building. There were lots of scientists and military men walking around, and not many glanced at them. At the entrance of the building, a Corporal stopped in front of them.

“What is it?” he asked, “Are we in trouble?”

“’Are we in trouble, _sir_?’” Sherlock said authoritatively.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“You were expecting us?”

“Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons. Security. _Is_ there something wrong, sir?”

“Well I hope not, Corporal. I hope not.”

“It’s just we don’t get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn’t happen.”

John said, “Never heard of a spot check? Captain John Watson. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

Both men saluted each other, and then Lyons saw Etheldrea.

“My niece.” Sherlock said quickly, “She’ll be no trouble.”

“Sir, Major Barrymore won’t be pleased. He’ll want to see you all.”

John said, “I’m afraid we won’t have time for that. We’ll need the full tour. Right away. Carry on.”

Lyons hesitated, gauging Etheldrea with exceptional care. John didn’t hesitate at all.

“That’s an order, Corporal.”

He relented and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Lyons turned and went to the door to swipe his ID card. Sherlock followed suit, and once the doors opened, they were quickly following Corporal Lyons through the halls.

“Nice touch.” Sherlock quietly said to John.

“Haven’t pulled rank in ages.”

“Enjoy it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

At the end of a hall way, they got access into an elevator and traveled down to a basement floor. The room that they arrived at was pure white with few black titled accents. As they walked past, a monkey screeched at them. Etheldrea frowned and took a step back, the thing was maniac.

“How many animals do you keep down here?” Sherlock asked.

“Lots sir.”

“Any ever escape?”

“They’d have to know how to use that lift sir. We’re not breeding them that clever.”

“Unless they have help?”

An older man in a white hazard like suit walked up to them.

“And you are?” he asked.

“I’m sorry Doctor Frankland,” Corporal Lyons said, “I’m just showing these gentlemen, and lady, around.”

“Ah, new faces. How nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap.”

He chuckled and left them.

John asked, “How far does that lift go?”

“Quite a way, sir.”

“And what’s down there?”

“Well we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way please, gentlemen and ma’am.”

Lyons led the, down to a door at the end of the room.

“So what is it exactly that you do here?” John asked and Etheldrea winced at the risky question.

“I thought you’d know, sir. This being an inspection.”

John recovered it well, “I’m not an expert, am I?”

Lyons sighed, “Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir.”

“But mostly weaponry?”

“Of one sort or another, yes.”

“Biological, chemical . . .”

“One war end, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared.”

The next room they entered held two scientists and s monkey that shrieked loudly as it stood up and then back down again.

The female scientist said, “Okay, Michael, let’s try Harlow Three next time.”

She started walking towards them.

Lyons greeted, “Doctor Stapleton.”

“Stapleton.” Sherlock murmured quietly.

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“Priority Ultra, ma’am. Orders from on high. An inspection.” Lyons replied.

“Really?”

Sherlock said, “We’re to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What’s your role at Baskerville?”

Stapleton laughed disbelievingly.

John asked. “Er, accorded every courtesy, isn’t that the idea?”

“I’m not free to say. Official secrets.”

 “Oh, you most certainly are free,” Sherlock smiled and then turned ominous, “and I suggest you remain that way.”

“I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers.”

Sherlock reached into his coat and pulled out a notebook and pen, “Stapleton. I knew I knew your name.”

“I doubt it.”

“People say there’s no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead.”

He had written something on the notebook, but Etheldrea couldn’t see it. He held it up to Stapleton and she looked shocked for a moment.

“Have you been talking to my daughter?”

“Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?”

And for Etheldrea the puzzle pieces fit.

John asked bewildered, “The rabbit?”

Sherlock ignored him, “Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive. Clearly an inside job.”

“Oh, you reckon?” Stapleton asked.

“Why? Because it glowed in the dark.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?”

Sherlock looked at his watch and turned to Lyons, “Well I think we’ve seen enough for now Corporal. Thank you so much.”

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it. It’s this way, isn’t it?”

Stapleton called after them, but Sherlock ignored her and kept walking. John and Etheldrea quickly followed.

John whispered quietly, “Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?”

Sherlock ignored him and they hurried to get to the exit. Sherlock received a text and laughed to himself.

“Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft’s getting slow.” He told john and Etheldrea.

They reached the lift and stopped for a moment when they saw Doctor Frankland.

He smiled at them, “Hello, again.”

Etheldrea’s phone beeped and she pulled it out.

**What is he doing? M**

She rolled her eyes and put it away. The lift’s door opened at the next floor, and waiting right outside was a thin, bald man in a camouflage uniform like the other soldiers. Lyons shifted nervously,

“Er, um, Major-” he said.

Furiously, Barrymore said, “This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn’t I told?”

John said as he walked out, “Major Barrymore is it? Yes, well, good. Very good. We’re very impressed, aren’t we, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock replied, “Deeply; hugely.”

He walked past him and Etheldrea and John stayed close behind. Barrymore looked even more upset when he saw her. The major followed directly behind them as they hurried.

“The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense, and don’t get me started on the bloody teenager!”

“I’m so sorry, Major.”

“Inspections?!”

“New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you’d get up to.” He murmured to John and Etheldrea, “Keep walking.”

Lyons had briefly gone to a security room and rushed back out to slam an alarm button. Alarms blared and red lights flashed, and everyone turned towards him.

“ID unauthorized, sir.” Lyons said, and Etheldrea knew they would need a miracle.


	6. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 4

The alarms were still going, and the lights still flashing. Any moment now they were going to be pulled into a room and shot.

 Barrymore asked Lyons, "What?"

 "I’ve just had the call."

 "Is that right?" He turned to look at them, "Who are you?"

 John said, "Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake."

 Barrymore held out his hand for Sherlock's ID which he handed over. Barrymore looked it over and the up at Sherlock.

 "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes."

 John pulled out a notebook and wrote in it, "Computer error, Major. It’ll all have to go in the report."

 "What the hell’s going on?!"

 Etheldrea had been watching Dr. Frankland silently who in turn was watching them. Slowly he had been walking towards them and was coming to interrupt.

 "It’s all right, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen and lady are."

 "You do?"

 "Yeah. I’m getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn’t someone I expected to show up in this place."

 Sherlock started, "Ah, well-"

He offered a hand, "Good to see you again, Mycroft."

 Sherlock shook his hand and smiled falsely. John and Etheldrea were both surprised at the savior.

 "I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in . . . Brussels, was it?"

 Sherlock lied smoothly, "Vienna."

 "Vienna, that’s it." He turned back to Barrymore, "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There’s obviously been a mistake."

 Barrymore turned to Lyons and nodded his head. The Corporal went back to the security room and in a moment the lights and sirens turned off, and the exit door opened up.

 Barrymore turned back to Frankland, "On your head be it, Dr. Frankland."

 Frankland laughed while Lyons walked back, "I’ll show them out, Corporal."

 "Very well, sir."

 Sherlock turned and left and the others quickly followed. Frankland walked with them while Barrymore looked on in anger. Etheldrea walked alongside Frank land.

 Sherlock said, "Thank you."

 "This is about Henry Knight, isn’t it?"

 No one said a word, but he took the silence as a yes.

 Happily he said, "I thought so. I knew he wanted help but I didn’t realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes! Don’t worry; I know who you really are. I’m never off your website. Thought you’d be wearing the hat though.”

Etheldrea smirked while Sherlock sighed, “That wasn’t my hat.”

“I hardly recognize him without the hat.”

“It wasn’t my hat.”

“I love the blog too, Dr. Watson.”

“Oh, cheers.”

“The Pink thing, and that one about the Aluminum Crutch!” he turned to Etheldrea, “And you, I love reading about you. You’re such a brave girl Miss Holmes. How do you do it?”

She smiled, “Defense classes, lots of them. I can get myself out of almost any situation.”

“Really? Your teacher must have been a wonderful instructor.”

She looked over to Sherlock, “Oh yes, definitely.”

Sherlock asked quickly, and they stopped walking, “You know Henry Knight?”

“I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend.” He turned to see Barrymore watching them closely, and reached into his coat for a slip of paper. “Listen, I can’t really talk now. Here’s my cell number. If I can help, with Henry, give me a call.”

“I never did ask, Dr. Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?”

He sighed, “Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you, but then of course I’d have to kill you.”

He laughed although Sherlock replied very seriously, “That would be tremendously ambitious of you. Tell me about Dr. Stapleton.”

“I never speak ill of a colleague.”

“But you’d speak well of one, which you’re clearly omitting to do.”

“I do seem to be, don’t I?”

Sherlock began to turn way, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Any time.”

They walked away to the car and John asked, “So?”

“So?” Sherlock asked back.

 “What was all that about, the rabbit?”

Sherlock turned up his coat collar, holding it tight to himself. Etheldrea chuckled and rolled her eyes, and John sighed, exasperated.

“Oh please.” he said, “Can we not do this this time?”

“Do what?”

“You being all mysterious with your . . . cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yeah you do.”

Etheldrea muttered as she climbed in the back seat, “Vampire.”

For her amusement, after buckling up he turned to her and said, “Blud.”

They left the Baskerville facility and started driving to meet Henry at his house. Etheldrea stared out the window, looking up at the sun in the sky. In just a few hours, the sun would set and they would be off in the dark woods searching for a supposed demon hound. She shivered involuntarily.

“So, the email from Kirsty, the missing luminous rabbit?” John asked after a while.

Sherlock replied, “Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation.”

“She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark?”

“Probably a fluorescent gene. Removed and spliced into the specimen, simple enough these days. The dumbest kid in Etheldrea’s class could do it.”

“No, he couldn’t.” Etheldrea said, “Richter Todd can’t even _read_. Hey dad, can we get a dog and make it glow in the dark?”

“We’re not getting a dog.”

“Damn it. Well, at least we know about Stapleton now.”

“So?” John asked.

Sherlock replied, “So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?”

“To be fair, that is quite a wide field.”

* * *

Henry Knight’s house was huge! As they pulled up, Etheldrea observed every part of the building that she could see. The main house built of brick, a walk way on the second floor with floor to ceiling glass windows, and even a greenhouse as an entrance.

They walked inside and to the door and Sherlock rain the doorbell. A moment later, Henry opened the door and let them in. The inside was just as beautiful and everyone room was elaborately decorated.

John stuttered some, “This is, uh, are you, um . . . rich?”

Henry nodded, “Yeah.”

“Right.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed henry as he walked into the kitchen. Etheldrea took a seat next to Sherlock at the Kitchen Island while Henry made tea. As Sherlock poured sugar into his, and both Etheldrea and John opted out and took milk instead, henry talked about his latest therapy session.

“It’s-it’s a couple of words. It’s what I keep seeing. ‘Liberty’

John reached for his notebook, “Liberty.”

“Liberty, and . . . ‘in’. It’s just that.” He picked up the milk and looked between John and Etheldrea, “Are you finished?”

They both smiled and nodded, and Henry turned to put it away.

“Mean anything to you?” John asked Sherlock.

“’Liberty in death’, isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom.”

John nodded and took a sip of his tea. Etheldrea contemplated what else it could mean, but there was nothing else she could think of. Henry turned back and sighed.

“What now, then?”

“Sherlock’s got a plan.”

He smiled, “Yes.”

“Right.” Henry said, waiting for an explanation.

“We take you back out onto the moor.”

“Okay . . .”

“And see if anything attacks you.”

“What?!” John and Etheldrea asked simultaneously.

“That should bring things to a head.”

Henry asked nervously, “At night? You want me to go out there at night?”

“That’s your plan?” he snorted in disbelief, “Brilliant!”

Etheldrea didn’t say a word, but her posture was rigid straight, and she hid her hands which were curling into fists. In Sherlock looked at her now, only he would see that her breathing was slightly increased.

“Got any better ideas?” Sherlock asked.

“That’s not a plan.”

“If there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do, find out where it lives.”

* * *

As the sun began to set, the group rode to the moor. There they pulled out their torches and started walking. Etheldrea felt her heart race more and more as it got darker. If you asked her, she would say she didn’t jump, but the fox screams in the distance were very unnerving to her. She stayed close to her dad as they ventured forth.

As soon as they entered the woods, both John and Etheldrea heard rustling form behind them, and quickly turned to investigate. Sherlock and Henry either didn’t hear it or ignored it and kept walking. Etheldrea followed John, neither of them noticing the split up, and looked around. They shined their lights all around the area, but didn’t find any animals. John however, did see a light flashing on a hill long ways away.

He turned and looked to Sherlock, only to find him gone. Etheldrea saw too, and began to panic slightly. She walked closer to John.

“We need to find them.” She whispered.

“We will, just after I write that down.” John promised, pulling out a notebook.

He wrote down what the lights seemed to be flashing in Morse Code. U – M – Q – R – A.

“Let’s go.” Etheldrea whispered hurriedly and started down the path.

“Alright, alright.” John whispered back, “It’ll be fine. Henry knows the way.”

They walked, Etheldrea behind him, and after a while, still weren’t caught up with them. Etheldrea tried breathing deep and even, but was having little success. The shadows around them were shifting and changing, and the trees seemed to swirl. Etheldrea was getting dizzy. Behind her, she heard another rustle only it sounded closer and venturing deeper in the woods.

She whipped around and whispered, “John, did you hear that?”

But he didn’t hear it, or her, and kept on walking. Etheldrea didn’t see him, and towards the source expecting him to be with her. She walked past a few trees, and turned around near bushes. She was sure the noise had come from here, but she didn’t see anything.

She started to say, as she turned back, “False lead, I sup- John?”

She looked all around her, but she was alone.

“John?” she called out, loudly this time.

She didn’t hear a reply back.

“Ok, ok.” She muttered to herself, “Don’t panic. Just go back the way you came.”

She started walking, and she got back onto the main path. At least, she thought it was. The area looked no different than where she was two minutes ago. Henry was gone, Sherlock was gone, and now John was gone, and they were only getting farther. She wasn’t panicking, there was no way she was going to panic, there was no reason to-

CRACK!

She looked behind her and saw nothing, to her sides there was nothing. The noise sounded like it came from everywhere.

CRACK!

She took off running in hopefully the right direction, and that’s when the howling began. It echoed all around her, and she stopped running, frantically searching in all directions for the monster. She couldn’t see anything though; the darkness was crawling towards her. The wind was picking up, and there was a faint metallic pattering sound mixed in with the noise. She had to get away, but everything was just so dark, and she was completely alone.

“Dad?” she called quietly, finding no strength in her voice, “Dad?”

She walked forward slowly. In her hands she gripped her torch tightly. A long time ago she had found it didn’t do anything to ease her nerves. However it made a wonderful weapon, which Sherlock had unfortunately found out many times in the past.

She had only made it a few feet when she felt something grab her shoulder. She screamed, let out a string of curses, and started beating at whatever was behind her. It was a short and buff, and was shouting at her to stop.

“What are you doing?!” it yelled, “Stop! It’s me, it’s John!”

Immediately she back up and lowered the light, wincing as she saw John rubbing his head. When the pain died down, he looked her over and saw her shaking some.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Well, you did scare me.” She said, looking around still a bit scared.

“Right, remind to never come up behind you again. Did you hear the howling?”

“Yeah.”

“No, alright, seriously, what’s wrong? You’re shaking like a leaf, you keep looking around like the trees are going to – to eat you and you’re on the verge of hyperventilating. That’s not just because I snuck up on you.”

She shook her head, “ _I’m fine_. Just . . . maybe just a bit scared of the dark.”

“You? Scared of the dark? Since when?” he asked incredulously.

“Since always.”

“But, I’ve never seen you-“

“Actually you have. Never this severe though.”

“Oh, Etheldrea.”

“No, don’t pity me. Let’s just go find dad and Henry, and get out of here.”

They didn’t even have to move because John saw flashlights shining behind them. The pair walked to meet them. Sherlock walked right past him, and even ignored Etheldrea. The others quickly followed after him.

“Did you hear that?” John asked.

 “We saw it. We saw it.” Henry said.

Sherlock dismissed him, “No. I didn’t see anything.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t. See. Anything.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything more, and Etheldrea ran to meet up with him. She looked him over, taking note that he seemed very agitated. They got out of the moor, and drove back to Grimpen Village. No one said anything. John walked Henry to his house, and Etheldrea followed her dad back to the inn.

In the room that she and Sherlock shared, Etheldrea sat down on her bed and started to calm down. Now that she was in a closed area with . . . less than exceptional lighting, she felt better. However, as she thought about what she had heard in the woods, the thought of some sort of monster being out there was weighing in her mind.

“Dad?” she asked as he took off his coat and scarf, “Do you think . . . do you think there’s a dog out there? And that’s what’s terrorizing Henry? Could he just have a giant dog fear?”

Sherlock wasn’t listening.

“Dad?”

“You got separated.” He said after a minute, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah , fine. A bit on edge, like everyone else. No one seemed to be paying attention to each other, huh? Just on the search for that dog.”

“Hound. It’s a Hound.” He said.

“Right. Anyway, do you think that’s what’s out there? It’s just a dog?”

“ _No_. It’s a Hound.”

“Whatever. While we were out there, I heard- wait, you don’t actually believe Henry do you? That there’s a demon monster out there?”

“I don’t know, I don’t- I saw . . . something. I don’t know what it was.”

Sherlock was staring out the window, looking across the parking lot, but in the direction of the moor. Etheldrea stood up and went to stand by him.

“It can’t be real.” She muttered, “Something like that wouldn’t just scare people. It would attack.”

“I’m not sure what real is, at the moment.”

Etheldrea look up at him, and then looped her arms around his. She pulled him towards the doors.

“Come on, let’s go wait for John and discuss it. I’m sure there’s some coco.”

“I need something stronger than hot chocolate.”

“Well, lucky for you, I saw a variety of alcohol at the bar.”


	7. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 5

Etheldrea waited by the fire while Sherlock grabbed drinks. He was back a moment later and handed her a mug with, she realized worriedly, shaking hands. They sat quietly, Etheldrea was waiting for her dad to say something. Unfortunately, he seemed lost in his thoughts and looked on the verge of a panic attack. Ne'er in her life had she seen him scared before, and she didn't know what she could do to help.

"Uh, I hit John." She said, trying to distract him, "Whacked him with my flashlight a few times. He scared me."

To her relief, the corner of his mouth twitched up.

"At least I'm taller now and didn't hit lower like I did with you." She said with a quiet laugh.

He replied quietly, "I need to think."

"Ok." She said softly.

It would still be a while before John showed up, and there wasn't much for her to do now. She was about to go grab one of the books she brought, but he felt her phone vibrating. She pulled it out and read off the caller ID Uncle Mycroft. Rolling her eyes, she pressed the talk but on and answered.

"Hello Uncle Mycroft. What have I done to deserve a call at this hour.”

_“You’re father’s been ignoring me.”_

“I would too.”

_“Why were you at Baskerville?”_

“A case, plain and simple. I’m sure you keep up on dad’s blog.”

 _“I’d gather more information about the cases you three are currently on if you had a blog of your own.”_ Mycroft said carpingly.

“John’s the blogger, who’d read what I have to say? They don’t even read dads.”

She rolled her eyes when Sherlock glared at her and told him, “I thought you were thinking.”

_“Now, tell me exactly why you were in Baskerville.”_

“Seriously, a case. Kristy Stapleton lost her rabbit, and we found it.”

_“A rabbit? And since when has my brother ever cared about a child’s rabbit?”_

“You should be proud, he’s trying new things.”

_“Etheldrea, I will find out.”_

She replied sullenly, “Surprised you don’t know already. Don’t you always have someone watching my every move?”

_“How can I when you’re where you are? No cameras. No stations cleared for access, and if someone follows you around, it’ll alert more suspicion then I need.”_

“I think I need to come here more often.”

_“And causing more trouble than necessary? I think not.”_

“Oh please, what’s the worst that could happen?”

_“I shudder to think, which is why I’m sending down a friend tomorrow.”_

“Fantastic. And I’m going to assume he’s going to be spying on us all day?”

_“Actually, you should enjoy his company. You like him better than anyone else I’ve had look after you.”_

“I’ve never liked anyone following me around. In fact, I hate them all.”

_“Detective Inspector Lestrade will be so upset to hear that.”_

“Wait, really?”

_“Yes really. He should be there in the morning.”_

“Alright then. Fantastic.” As she said this, John arrived and sat down on Sherlock’s right, “I have to go. Bye.”

_“Wait-“_

She ended the call, put her phone away, and scoot her chair closer so that they could talk quietly. Her dad, she noticed, was still shaking a bit, and glanced nervously around now and then.

John informed them about Henry, “Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors.”

 He didn’t even seem to notice Sherlock was in distress and continued on, “And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.”

Etheldrea nodded, “And Uncle Mycroft would have known more about it, and he wouldn’t have called me just a bit ago.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. His hands were clasped in front of him, tightly, and he seemed like he was fighting off a panic attack or the urge to cry. Etheldrea watched him and frowned worriedly. John still didn’t seem to notice.

He pulled out a notebook, “Listen, on the moor we saw someone signaling. Morse - I guess its Morse. Doesn’t seem to make much sense. U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean . . . anything . . ?

 Sherlock had taken in a sharp breath, and finally John how distraught he was, but he ignored it, thinking he was wrong. He put his note book away and looked to Sherlock for answers.

“So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide. We all heard something. Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog.”

“Henry’s right.” Sherlock finally said.

“What?”

Sherlock’s voice was shaky, “I saw it too.”

“What?” Etheldrea asked in shock.

“I saw it too.”

 John sat forward, “Just, just a minute. You saw what?”

 Sherlock looked up from the fire, glancing back and forth between John and Etheldrea. His face, he looked so upset and loathing of the words he was about to spit out through gritted teeth.

“A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.”

 John nearly laughed as he sat back, “Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can’t just - let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.

Sherlock looked at him and said the phrase Etheldrea heard most of her childhood, “Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable –must be true.”

“What does that mean?”

Sherlock reached and grabbed his drink, and Etheldrea saw his hands still shaking.

He laughed at himself a bit, “Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid.

“Sherlock?”

 He took a drink and glared at his still shaking hand.

“Always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from . . . feelings. But look, you see.”

He held up the shaking glass, “My body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.”

He was looking angry now, and practically slammed the glass back on the table. Etheldrea reached out and grabbed his hand, but sharply he drew it away.

John attempted to calm him, “Yeah, all right, Spock, just . . . take it easy. You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

“Worked. Up?”

“It was dark and scary –“

“Me?” Sherlock asked with a laugh, “There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s Etheldrea whose got worked up.”

He looked to the fire again, raising his hands to his temples and groaning like he had a headache, which he probably did. Etheldrea raised her hand and hesitantly reached to place it on his arm. He was still shaking.

“Dad . . .” she started but didn’t know how to finish,

“Sherlock –“ John was interrupted by Sherlock shouting at them.

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Etheldrea nearly fell backward from the force she jumped back. She had her hands raised, almost afraid that her dad would turn on her. He hardly ever yelled at her, using instead a stern disappointed voice that was usually more frightening.

Sherlock sighed deeply as he looked around at the other patrons staring at them, and then to Etheldrea and saw just a glimmer of fear in her eyes. He tried to get himself under control.

“You want me to prove it, yes? We’re looking for a dog? Yes, a great big dog. That’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?” he looked over his shoulder to a man and women at a table, his voice now angry and harsh as he started his deductions, “How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.”

John asked, “Yes?”

“She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Sherlock, for God’s sake.”

He was rambling it off in quick fire now, “Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.”

“Well, maybe he’s just not hungry.”

“No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes. ‘How do you know she’s his mother?’ Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. ‘Widowed?’ Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewelry’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog, tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. ‘How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?’ Because she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.”

He ended his ramble and glared fiercely at him as John stared in shock. Etheldrea truly didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if she could say anything to make this better.

John sighed, and shook his head, “Yeah. Okay. Okay. And why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.”

Like it was sour, Sherlock bit out, “I don’t have _friends_.”

 John agreed softly, “No. Wonder why?”

He stood up and walked away. Etheldrea watched him, calling his name, but he ignored her. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then she clasped both hands and leaned forward. When she spoke, he never looked at her just at the fire.

"Dad, are you really going to let him go of like that?"

"I don't see why not?"

“What you said, it could be taken incorrectly.”

“It’s only the truth.”

“Regardless, you should apologize. Explain what you mean at least.”

He snapped at her, “You’re turning into John. Absolutely idiotic.”

Etheldrea sat up straight, pushed her tongue against her teeth, and then stood up. Sherlock saw out of the corner of his eye, and reached out to grab her hand.

“Where are you going?”

“A walk. You need some time alone.”

“Etheldrea –“

“Also, I don’t very much like being called an idiot.”

She stormed out of the inn, through the back and turned right. There was no way she was going back to her room; she shared it with Sherlock and right now she didn’t want to see him for at least an hour. She paused near the corner of the inn, reading a sign about some historical landmark.

_Cross Key's Grave_

**_Long before the Inn was built, an unmarked grave stone fifty meters from here was found. Stories say that he was either a soldier in a war, or a poor man killed over a land dispute. More popular myths have emerged saying he was a sacrifice for ritual worship. Tying in with the other ghostly myths in the area, including the Hound, those who visit the gravesite report hearing whispering, chanting, and even their own names. There is no proof of these claims, but it does excite those seeking a late night thrill._ **

Etheldrea looked around and saw a section of trees parted like a tunnel and walked towards it. There was a sign pointing the way, and she wondered how she had missed this earlier. It was dark, and after the fright at the moor, the last thing she wanted to do was go into more darkness. But, she didn't want to go back to her room and, the inn was only a short ways away and there was no demon dog in these woods.

She pulled out her torch, flipped it on, and ventured towards the spot. She was there within a minute, and it certainly looked creepy. There was an animal skull near the side of the grave, along with what looked like a radius and an ulna. The area had dying grass in some patches, and there was also dead flowers around grave. The stone itself was chipped and worn, and had a dark mark she suspected to be blood. Etheldrea knelt and ran a hand over it, feeling the sharp jagged points and sides.

CRACK

Etheldrea snapped her head back. The sound had come from right behind her, she was sure, but there wasn't anyone.

CRACK

She stood up and flashed her light around, looking for a hiding person.

"Etheldrea." A voice whispered faintly.

Etheldrea froze. She wanted to call out but her voice was stuck in her throat.

CRACK

Slowly, she walked back in the direction of the inn. She was barely ten feet away she heard her name again, and then she made a break for it. Just as she saw the lights of the inn, a figure stepped in her way. She ran right into it and it grabbed her. She kicked up and it let go as it fell, and she pushed herself away. However, she tripped over a root, dropped the torch, and fell back on her wrist. It hurt very much, and she hoped she hadn’t sprained it _again_.

The figure by her groaned, "Etheldrea."

The torch shown on the figure, revealing pale skin, dark hair and clothes, and-

"Dad!?" Etheldrea shouted, "You scared me to death!"

"Well," Sherlock groaned and he slowly stood up, "I think we're even now."

She asked as she stood and brushed herself off, "Why? You know I'm scared of the dark! Why the hell did you come after me?"

"I'll not have you out here alone." He replied, doing the same.

"I'm fine. There nothing out here."

"We don't know that. Let’s get back to the inn."

He grabbed her wrist and she winced. He stooped and grabbed the torch. When he shined it on her wrist, they saw blood and a rather large gash from the bottom of her palm down an inch.

"Apply some pressure. You shouldn't need stitches, but you will need a bandage."

* * *

Etheldrea leaned against the bathroom counter with her wrist held out. Sherlock wet a washcloth and began to clean away the blood and dirt. Then he grabbed a small can of disinfectant and sprayed it. Etheldrea hissed as it stung.

"Sorry." Sherlock mumbled, "You and that wrist. Let’s make a list, shall we? Broken at four, fractured a year later, twisted three separate times in the past seventeen years, and now split open. It’s never going to end, is it?"

She chuckled, "No, I'm afraid not."

He grabbed a large square bandage and put it on.

"There, that should keep you."

"Thanks." she replied and then walked into the bedroom, "You know you have to apologize to him, right?"

"Why? It's true."

"The way you said it though, that was harsh. Just say sorry, that's all."

"Since when did you become a voice of reason?"

"Probably about the time I met John and Abigail."

"Good."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re learning some of his better traits, and some of his objectionable ones.”

She mumbled, “Yeah, like his stupidity.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it was idiotic that you act like him at times. But now that I think about, with how much he looks after you, it really isn’t. He’s perfectly ordinary; he’s the father you deserve.”

“Maybe. . . But he’s not the father I need.”

Sherlock smiled just a bit and went to sit next to her, “You are perfectly extraordinary.”

She smiled back at him, “Suck up. You’re forgiven.”

Etheldrea yawned and Sherlock stood up.

“Get some sleep.” He said, “We’ve got an early morning.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, and I’ve a few theories.”

She yawned again, “Share?”

“In the morning. Go to sleep.”

Etheldrea got up and quickly went to change into her pajamas. Then she got into the bed, pulled back her bed covers, and climbed under them.

“Leave the bathroom light on please.”

“Always.”

“Night, dad.”

“Good night, my Little Wanderer.”


	8. The Hounds of Baskerville Part 6

Mornings light streamed through the window of the room. Etheldrea was waking up to it, slowly and tiredly. After everything that happened last night, it had been a very good rest. She looked around and found that her dad was already gone. She sighed and rolled her eyes, and then got up to get ready.

She left the room and passed by Johns just as he walked out. As they talked, they walked to the dining area together.

"Morning." he said.

"Good morning. Did you have a nice night?”

“Well, it could have been better. Sherlock, is he alright now?”

“I don’t really know. He was better when we, well when I went to sleep, but I woke up and he was gone. He was supposed to tell me what theories he has.”

“What happened to your wrist?”

“Nothing, just tripped.” She shrugged, “After kneeing my dad.”

John laughed, “Ok, this I have to hear.”

She smiled, “Well, after you left the fire, dad and I had a fight, and I stormed out too. Went for a walk, and he scared me.”

“Serves him right.”

“What about you? What happened after you left?”

He grumbled, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, I’m sure todays to be filled with excitement.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m going to go out, see if I can find some more clues. You go eat breakfast.”

As they entered pub, John said good bye and left, and Etheldrea went to an empty table. She pulled out her phone and texted Sherlock, but didn’t get an answer right away. One of the owners, Gary, came over to get her order but she told him she wasn’t hungry. She was on a case after all.

“I thought John said he got you to start eating.” A family voice behind her said.

She turned and beckoned to the chair opposite to her, “Have a seat, Inspector.”

The Detective Inspector, looking very well-tanned after his vacation, sat down and smiled.

“So, quite a coincidence finding you here, huh?”

“Not really. I talked to Uncle Mycroft last night. He said he was sending you down. You shouldn’t have come though, we’ve haven’t done anything that-“

“Illegal?”

“- _would warrant_ our handler.”

“I’m not your handler, and I didn’t come down here because of your Uncle-“

“Really?” she asked, disbelieving.

“Really. He sounded worried about you guys-“

She scoffed, “Oh please, more like worried for his reputation.”

“-And when he explained, I got worried too. Going after this Hellhound seems incredibly dangerous.”

“I can, in fact, take care of myself.”

“Is that why John has to make sure you eat every morning?”

“It’s like dad always says, the body is just transport.”

“Maybe, but it still needs to be taken care of.”

She rolled her eyes and changed the subject, “Have you considered what I asked?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it, and honestly I think you should wait another year. It’s just one more year of school.”

“But I don’t need another year of school to join the Yard; I could be in my second year of University if I wanted to be in school.”

“If you had done that, you could’ve had a degree to present when you apply.”

“But I don’t need a degree to apply. You said so yourself that I would be perfect for _any_ team.” To herself she added, “If I learn to follow orders.”

“Yes, and you will be. But I think you need just a little more experience with law and government.”

“My Uncle _is_ the government.”

“And how often do you listen to a word he says.”

“What he has to say is often boring and unimportant.”

“Look, I’m not going to say you can’t or you should. That’s your decision to make, however, my personal opinion is that you should take another year and learn what you can.”

She nodded, “Okay, I’ll take it into consideration. How was Guadeloupe?”

“Good, really good. It was nice for a vacation.”

“And, um, everything’s . . . good?” she looked towards his left hand where there was an obvious lack of ring,

“Yeah. Honestly, much better now. But, it’s just me now, so-“

“Just you? I thought your nephew was living with you now.”

“He went back to be with his mom a couple weeks ago. But, he’s made a promise to visit whenever he can.”

She nodded, “That’s good-“

“And I’m sure you’re happy about that.”

Etheldrea glared, pushed her chair back, and stood up. Lestrade rolled his eyes and did the same, and then followed her as she walked to the bar.

“I’m kidding.” He said.

“I’m not interested.”

Etheldrea ordered some water while Lestrade went for a beer. He looked out the door, and spotted John and Sherlock on their way in. Sherlock was talking to John, but then he turned his head and saw Lestrade.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock asked as he stormed in.

“Well, nice to see you too. I’m on holiday, would you believe?”

Etheldrea rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her water.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Sherlock replied, annoyed.

Lestrade ignored him, “Hello, John.”

“Greg!” John replied in greeting, and earning a look from Sherlock.

“I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?”

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?”

“I’ve told you, I’m on holiday.”

Etheldrea said “If you can’t fool me, there’s no way you can fool him.”

While Sherlock said, “You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holidays’.”

“Yeah, well I fancied another one.” Lestrade said, failing to act apathetic.

Sherlock looked at Etheldrea, quickly remembering her being on the phone last night, and realization coming over.

“Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?”

“No, look-”

“Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my _handler_ to- to spy on me _incognito_. Is that why you’re calling yourself _Greg_?”

Both John and Etheldrea look confused for a minute while Lestrade looked unamused.

Etheldrea asked, “Dad, you steal his badges often enough, haven’t you looked at them?”

“That’s his name.” John pointed out.

Sherlock asked, “Is it?”

Lestrade gritted his teeth, “Yes – if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler, and I don’t just do what your brother tells me.”

Etheldrea scoffed, but took a quick sip when Lestrade glared at her.

“Actually, you could be just the man we want.” John said.

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock. I think I might have found something.” He pulled out a piece of paper, the receipt he found during check in, “Here. Didn’t know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.”

“Excellent.”

“Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.”

John rang the bell and they waited for the owners. Etheldrea, meanwhile, turned to Lestrade and fixed him with a look.

“So, you’ll go Big Scary Inspector when dad needs it, but when I call in about dealers, and crooks, it’s ‘try someone else’?”

Lestrade looked a bit sheepish, “You were calling my office every single day. I have bigger cases to work on! And most of the time, those cases involve your dad.”

“I can’t believe you’re skimping out on me. You know that Inspector Phillip’s you always send in your place is complete, utter sh-“

She stopped talking as the inn keepers entered. Lestrade pulled out his badge, John passed over the receipt, and the four of them were led to the back room.

As Lestrade went through checking books, Sherlock made coffee. He poured a couple of cups and went to give them to Etheldrea and John.

“What’s this?” John asked.

“Coffee, I made coffee.”

“You never make coffee.”

“I just did. Don’t you want it?”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

Sherlock sighed and John reluctantly took the coffee. Etheldrea took hers, drank some, and then her face scrunched up in disgust. John did the same.

“Dad, you know I don’t like it without some sort of creamer.”

“I don’t take sugar.”

Sherlock sighed again and looked like a kicked puppy, and Etheldrea and John reluctantly took another sip. Lestrade, fortunately, started talking about the records, and they could focus on something else.

“These records only go back two months. Someone had the idea when the TV show went out?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s me.” Billy said, “It was me. I’m sorry Gary, I couldn’t help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Carol’s wedding and one thing just led to another.”

“Nice try.”

Gary sighed, “Look, we were trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? A great big dog running wild up in the moor, it was heaven sent! It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“There’s an old mineshaft. It’s not too far. It was alright there.”

“Was?” Sherlock asked.

“We couldn’t control the bloody thing. It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and . . . you know.”

“It’s dead?” John asked, walking up to them.

“Put down.”

Billy said, “No choice, so it’s over.”

“It was just a joke, you know?”

“Yeah, hilarious.” Lestrade said standing up, “You’ve nearly driven a man out of his mind.”

“Lestrade walked out of the room, with the others who were standing following. John first, then Etheldrea, and Sherlock after a moment.

“You know here’s actually pleased that you’re here. Secretly pleased.” John said, referring to Sherlock.

“Is he?” Lestrade asked as they all walked outside, “That’s nice. I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together, appeals to his . . . his?”

John shrugged, “Asperger’s?”

Sherlock walked out at that moment and Lestrade asked him, “So you believe them about having the dog destroyed.”

“No reason not to.”

“Well, hopefully there’s no harm done. Not quite sure what to charge them with anyway. I’ll have a word with the local force. Alright, that’s that then. Catch you later. I’m enjoying this. It’s nice to get London out of your lungs.”

He started to walk away, and Etheldrea walked with him for a moment.

“About what you said earlier, and me joining the force and all, what if I did part time?”

“It would take you more time, but it could be doable.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

“See you later, Drea.”

She turned to go back, and kept walking with Sherlock as he finished talking with John.

“I’ve got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.” He said as he pulled out his phone.

“How?” John asked, “Can’t pull off the ID trick again.”

“Might not have to.” He smiled as the person on the other end answered, “Hello brother dear. How _are_ you?”

* * *

Getting inside was now significantly easier, and they walked with ease to Barrymore’s office. Before they went inside, Sherlock pulled Etheldrea aside while John kept walking.

“What I saw last night, it was massive. Glowing green eyes bright like a florescent light, and matted black fur, and all bigger than _you_.”

She nodded, “Ok, but why are you telling me this? It’s not actually here, is it?”

“Not sure, but I have suspicions. There should at least be evidence.”

“Got it, I’ll tell John.”

“I already did. Stay with him. The moment we get in there, you’re going to start searching.”

“Alright. What about you?”

“I’m talking with Barrymore, maybe get into his computer.”

She nodded again, “Ok. I’ll call you when we find something.”

They caught up with John and were let inside. Sherlock after giving John the pass card went to talk with Barrymore. John and Etheldrea went to the lift and went down. They got off at the same room they first visited and looked around. The white room was shutting down, with sheets on the cages, workers leaving, and stations clear of everything.

The workers shut off the main lights, leaving only desk lamps on and the area considerably darker. Etheldrea didn’t think about it, and pressed onwards to a door with a less than threating sign. John followed after her and opened it. They walked through an almost hallway like room to another that had rusting fuse boxes, one lone desk, and a broken pipe seeping steam. Not a single thing of important.

They went back to the first lab and were going to have another look; however, the room held a large nine-light lamp that immediately went off. Both John and Etheldrea became disoriented, and then alarms started blaring. Etheldrea blindly followed John to another door. When he tried the pass card, it denied them entry. He tried it again, and the same message came up.

Still blind and now nearly deaf, the two felt a sort of relief when it all stopped. However, all the lights in the lap went off save for a dim select few, and Etheldrea tensed. It was dark and almost too quiet now. John pulled out his flash light and tried looking around, but the imprint of the lamp was making it difficult. Etheldrea closed her eyes and waited for it to go away.

To their right, there was some rustling. Etheldrea, still not seeing, lifted an arm to feel for John, but he was already walking towards the cages. He pulled one sheet back and found nothing. They heard some clanking, and John pulled back the sheet on another empty cage.

Finally, the imprint in her eyes went away and she quickly went after John, staying behind him as he checked the cages. Both of them jumped back as John revealed the third cage and a baboon jumped towards them. Etheldrea clung to the back of John’s coat. She shook her head and looked at the floor, and then noticed the fourth cage.

There was a bent in the metal, a large opening present, and big enough for a dog to get out. She shook John’s coat and pointed to it.

“Look. . .”

Etheldrea gasped when she heard growling behind her. John turned around, pushed Etheldrea in front of him to the door they came through. Like the other door, the pass card didn’t work.

“Oh, come on.” John said desperately, “Come on!”

John turned back towards the lap, pushed Etheldrea behind him and pulled out his phone. He dialed Sherlock’s number but the latter didn’t pick up.

“Damn it.” He whispered, “Right.”

“There’s another door over there.” Etheldrea pointed.

“Stay behind me.”

They walked as quietly as possible, bending some as they passed some desks and hearing another low growl. At the door, the growling was louder and closer even. John covered his mouth and nose, not letting his breath alert the creature in the lap.

So quiet that he could barely hear, Etheldrea said, “Cages. Now.”

John nodded, and they made a break for it. The growling followed them. Etheldrea entered first and pressed her herself to the back. John entered next and then locked it and pulled the sheet down. Etheldrea wrapped her arms around her knees and rested head down. She breathed in and out, trying to control the rising panic she felt.

John’s phone rang and he answered it in record time.

“It’s here.” He breathed into the microphone, “It’s in here with us.”

 _“Where are you?”_ Sherlock asked, his voice sounding so loud in the room.

“Get us out, Sherlock; you’ve got to get us out. The big lab, the first lab that we saw.”

There was another growl, and John’s voice cracked, “Now, please!”

_“All right. I’ll find you. Keep talking.”_

“I can’t. It’ll hear me.”

_“Keep talking. What are you seeing? What is Etheldrea seeing?”_

Etheldrea looked up, seeing only the sheet. It was so _dark_. Was it this dark just a minute ago? Or had she been sitting here longer?

_“John? What do you see?”_

“I don’t know, I don’t know. But I can hear it.”

There was another growl, closer this time, “Did you hear that?”

 _“Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?_ ”

“No. I ca-“

John stiffened and moved back from peering out of the cage.

He whispered, “I can see it.”

Etheldrea was close to sobbing now, her hands at her mouth and nose. A shadow, the shadow of a dog was moving across the sheet, and she saw it with perfect clarity. The head was turned to the side, but it turned towards them and even through the cotton of the sheet, she could see the luminous eyes glowing green like headlights.

“It’s here.” John whispered, “It’s here.”

The shadow walked closer, directly coming to the cage, and the sheet started to move. Etheldrea closed her eyes tight, and then suddenly she heard her dad. She looked up, scared and relieved at the same time.

“Are you all right?” he asked, as John barreled out.

Sherlock crouched into the cage by Etheldrea and gently pulled one hand away from her face.

“Etheldrea . . .” he said with a pitiful look.

She was shaking, but she got out and clung tightly to Sherlock’s sleeve. She couldn’t speak.

John was frantically looking around, breathing hard, “Jesus Christ! It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must-“

The lab was now fully laminated and apparently void of any dogs.

“It must- Did- did- did you see it? You must have!”

Sherlock raised a hand, “It’s all right. It’s okay now.”

“NO IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT OKAY! I saw it. I was wrong!”

Sherlock shrugged, “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“What?”

 “What did you see?”

 “I told you: I saw the hound.”

“Huge; red eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Glowing?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

 “What?”

“I made up the bit about glowing, also told Etheldrea the eyes were green. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged.

“Drugged?”

“Can you walk?”

 “Of course I can walk.”

 “Come on, then. It’s time to lay this ghost.”

Etheldrea didn’t say anything, still trying to process all of what had happened. He had lied about the eyes? What had she seen? Wait, drugged? How? She hadn’t been drugged, had she? She’d have known. What?

The adrenaline coursing through her body was making everything dizzy and unfocused, like a dream. She was barely aware of Sherlock walking towards a door and going through. And John had a hand on her back and was pushing her forward. They room they entered wasn’t empty.

Doctor Stapleton was examining a rabbit.

“Well then, back again?” she asked when they entered, “What’s on your mind this time?”

“Murder, Dr. Stapleton, refined, cold-blooded murder.”

 _Stapleton. Rabbit. Murder?_ Etheldrea thought, _what murder? Rabbit?_

Sherlock moved mind her and turned off the lights. The rabbit Doctor Stapleton had started to glow.

And then Etheldrea fainted.


	9. The Hound of Baskerville Part 7

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not once during this entire escapade did he think Etheldrea would faint. But there she was, the moment he flipped off the switch and the rabbit glowed, THUMP. John was already trying to rouse her.

“Will you tell what little Kirstie what happened to Bluebell, or shall I?” he asked.

“Okay. What do you want?” Doctor Stapleton asked.

“First, some smelling salts for her.” He nodded towards Etheldrea, “And second, can I borrow your microscope?”

Stapleton sighed, put the rabbit away, and then disappeared for a minute. She came with a packet and tossed it to John who opened and used it. Etheldrea was awake with a moment.

“What’d I miss?” she asked.

John helped her to her feet, “Nothing.”

Sherlock was already following Doctor Stapleton to a new room, this one filled with all the equipment and chemicals he would need. He set to work immediately, and John, Etheldrea, and Doctor Stapleton could do nothing but sit and wait. It didn’t matter much; John and Etheldrea were going over the past ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Both were still feeling off, and Stapleton noticed.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You each look very peaky. Though, you did faint.”

“No, I’m alright.” John replied.

“I’ll be fine.” Etheldrea said, “It’s not the first time I’ve fainted. Probably won’t be the last.”

“It was the GFP Gene from the jellyfish, in case you’re interested.” Stapleton said, trying to end the silence.

“What?” John asked.

“In the rabbits. I call her Victoria if you really want to know.”

Etheldrea nodded, “My biology classes talked about that. Relatively easy compared to what we can do nowadays, but still fascinating.”

“Why?” John asked.

“Why not?” Stapleton replied, “WE don’t ask questions like that here. It isn’t done. It was a mix-up anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lap specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.”

“Your compassion’s overwhelming.” John replied cynically.

Stapleton replied mockingly back, “I know. I hate myself sometimes.”

“So go on then. You can trust me. I’m a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?”

She cast a weary glance at Etheldrea, and sighed, “Listen, if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of _course_ they are.”

“Cloning?”

“Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?”

“Human cloning?”

“Why not?”

“What about animals? Not. Sheep. Big animals?”

“Size isn’t a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethnics and the law, and both those things can be very flexible. But not here, not at Baskerville.”

Etheldrea, along with everyone else, looked up at the sounds of glass shattering and her dad swearing. Sherlock had thrown a slide in anger, not getting the results he wanted. He paced around the spot.

“Nothing there!” he shouted, “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What were you expecting to find?” Stapleton asked, her voice raised.

“A drug, of course. It has to be a drug, hallucinogenic or deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.”

“Sugar?” John questioned.

“Yes, the sugar. It’s a simple process of elimination. I saw the Hound; saw as my imagination expected me to see it. A genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there’s seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too but you two didn’t, John, Etheldrea. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: neither of you took sugar in your coffee.”

“I see, so-“

“I took it from Henry’s kitchen, his sugar.” He walked back to the microscope, defeated, “It’s perfectly alright.”

“But, maybe it’s not a drug?”

“No, it _has_ to be a drug. But how did it get into our systems, how? It must be something, something . . . something buried deep.” He turned and pointed to them, “Get out. I need to go to my mind palace.”

“Your what?” Stapleton asked.

John sighed, knowing this far too well, “He’s not going to be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go.”

He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and Etheldrea followed.

“His what?”

“Oh, his mind palace. It’s a memory technique, a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location. It doesn’t have to be a real place, and then you deposit memories there that theoretically, you can never forget anything. All you have to do is find you way back to it.”

Etheldrea said, “Method of Loci is the usual term applied to it. Dad and I may have extended it a bit though.”

“So this imaginary location could be anything? A house or a street?” Stapleton asked.

John nodded, “Yeah.”

“It’s a palace. He said it was a palace?”

“Yeah, well, he would, wouldn’t he?”

They exited the room and went back to the first lab again, which thankfully was still lit. They sat down, and Stapleton still had many questions.

She asked Etheldrea, “You mentioned your dad and you? Is yours a palace too?”

“No, far from it. Mines the place I grew up, my grandparent’s original house.”

“What do you see? Is it like imagining yourself in a room? Or like watching a movie? Or-“

“Both, actually. I visualize myself there, but I can still feel myself where I am. Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, it feels like I really am there.”

“What does it look like?”

“Um . . . well, anything really. Specific rooms you wouldn’t find in a house, others that look exactly like the bedrooms or the sitting room. Never ending rooms. Open doors, locked doors, specific rooms pertaining to specific subjects. If I go to the basement, I can find a morgue.”

“What’s behind the locked doors?”

“Things I don’t want to remember but keep them there just in case.”

“Why do you have a morgue?”

“When remembering facts about a dead body, where else would you go?”

“How do you do it?”

“Practice, concentration. Dad taught me when I was around four. I don’t know how big his is, but if it’s as large as an actual palace, then mine’s small in comparison. John is working on making his own. What did you call it, a ‘Memory Bungalow’? How’s _that_ going?”

He shook his head, “Shut up.”

The doors at the end of the lap flew open, and Sherlock stalked in with a determined stride. Everyone stood up, ready to follow him.

“I need access to a computer.” He said to Doctor Stapleton.

“Sure thing.” She said, and she led them through another lab and to another.

In the computer room, and also adjoined to Barrymore’s office, she immediately went to a computer. John stood guard at the door they just came through, and Etheldrea at the other exit.

“Project H.O.U.N.D,” Sherlock told her, “I must have read about it, and stored it away. Experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana.”

The computer beeped.

Stapleton said, “That’s as far as my access goes, I’m afraid.”

John said, “Well, there must be an override, a password.”

“I imagine so, but that would be Major Barrymore’s.”

Sherlock turned and went to Barrymore’s office, flipped on the light and sat in the chair. He spun around, starting his elimination process.

“He sat here when he thought it up.” Sherlock said, “Describe him to me.”

“You’ve seen him.”

“But describe him.”

“Uh, he’s a bloody martinet, a throwback, the sort they’d have sent into sewers.”

“Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children’s names as a password. He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what’s at eye level? Book’s, _Jane’s Defense Weekly_ , bound copies. _Hannibal_ , Wellington, Rommel, Churchill’s _History of the English Speaking Peoples_ , all for volumes. Churchill, he’s fond of Churchill. Copy of _the Downing Street Years_. One, two, three, four, five separate biographies of Thatcher.”

Etheldrea mumbled, “How does he read all that? I’ll read nearly every bloody book under the sun! But never anything he’s got.”

Sherlock ignored her, still deducing the room, “Mid- nineteen eighties at a guess. Father and son, Barrymore Senior. Medals, Distinguished Service Order?”

John answered, “That date, I’d say, Falkland’s Veteran.”

“Right, so Thatcher’s the more likely bet than Churchill.”

Sherlock walked back out to the computer and went to type it in.

“So that’s the password?” Stapleton asked.

“No, with a man like Major Barrymore only first names terms will do.”

He typed in the word, and the computer started beeping, more like a buffer or loading time than denied access. Etheldrea was sure no one was coming, and went to go look at what they would fine. John walked over too.

Etheldrea read through the screen, absorbing all the important parts: Paranoia, severe frontal lobe damage, blood-brain, gross cranial trauma, dangerous acceleration, multiple homicides. Pictures of the patients showed them screaming in pain, terror, or both. Blood spatters and also surrounding bodies showed up too.

“Jesus.” John uttered softly.

Etheldrea shook her head, “I can’t- we were drugged with that?”

Sherlock read, “Project H.O.U.N.D, a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus. But they shut it down and hid it away in nineteen eighty-six.”

“Because of what it did to the subjects they tested.” Stapleton said.

“And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane, made them almost uncontrollably aggressive.”

“So someone’s been doing it again, carrying on the experiments.” John said.

“Attempting to refine them, perhaps. For the last twenty years.”

Stapleton asked, “Who?”

John asked, “Those names mean anything to you?”

“No, not a thing.”

“Five principal scientists, twenty years ago.” Sherlock pulled up a photo of the scientists, “Maybe our friend’s somewhere in the back of the picture – someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986 . . .”

Etheldrea saw it at the same time Sherlock did. Though much younger of course, there was no denying that Doctor Bob Frankland was standing in the back, a smile on his face as he posed.

“Maybe somebody who says ‘cellphone’ because of time spent in America. You remember John?”

John nodded.

Etheldrea asked, “You still have it right? The number?”

“I do. Gave it to us in case we needed him.”

“Oh my god.” Stapleton said when she saw, “But Bob doesn’t even work on- I mean, he’s a virologist. This was chemical warfare.”

“That’s where he started though, and he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let’s arrange a little meeting.”

John’s phone rang, and he didn’t appear to recognise the number. He answered with a timid hello and only heard crying.

“Who is this?” he asked, and then got the answer, “It’s Louise Mortimer. Louise, what’s wrong? . . . What? . . . Where are you? . . . Right, stay there. We’ll get someone to you, okay?”

“Henry?” Sherlock asked when John ended the call.

“He’s attacked her.”

“Gone?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“There’s only one place he’ll go to,” Sherlock dialed his own phone, “Back to where it all started. Lestrade, get to the Hollow, Dewer’s Hollow now and bring a gun.”

* * *

They are the second party to arrive; Henry wass already there of course. Lestrade was only minutes behind them. Etheldrea hated it, the darkness and it seemed even darker tonight than the night before, but she ignored it best as she could. There wass something far more important than a childhood fear going on.

They ran through the woods, shadows leaping out at them, and Sherlockwasis the first one down the path to the Hollow. He was shouting at Henry, and when Etheldrea made it down she could see the gun in his mouth.

_Henry was ready, but he shouldn’t be._

“Get back! GET AWAY FROM ME!” Henry shouted at them, raising the gun at them.

John spoke in a calm tone, “Easy, Henry, east, just relax.”

“I know what I am; I know _what I tried to do_!”

“Just put the gun down. It’s okay.”

“NO! NO! I KNOW WHAT I AM!”

Sherlock said, equally clam as John, “Yes, I’m sure you do Henry. It’s all been explained to you, hasn’t it? Explained very carefully.”

“What?”

Slowly, he start stepping to Henry, “Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you’d both clung on to, because you had started to remember. Remember now, Henry. You’ve got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy.”

“I thought it had got my dad. The Hound, I thought- Oh, JESUS. I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE, I DON’t-“

He put the gun to his mouth, and John rushed forward shouting for him to stop. Etheldrea watch in horror.

Sherlock shouted, trying to distract him, “Henry, remember! ‘Liberty In.’ Two words. Two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago. You started to piece things together. Remember what really happened here that night. It wasn’t an animal, was it, Henry? Not a monster, a man.”

Henry looked up, lowering the gun, and stared like he was a thousand years away.

“You couldn’t cope, you were just a child. So you rationalized it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said.”

John inched forward towards Henry, and behind them Lestrade finally showed up. John reached Henry and took the gun. Henry was still confused though and looked to Sherlock for the answer.

“But we saw it- We saw it last night. We did.”

“Yes, there was a dog, henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that’s how it works. But there never was any monster.”

Upon hearing howling and growling, everyone looked up. At the edge of the Hollow, it was the Hound. Etheldrea saw it as Sherlock had described it, bigger than her, glowing and green eyes. It was just like being back in the cage. Involuntarily she took a step back, and then fell down. Leaves crunched beneath her, shuffling with her and she tried to get back.

Henry was freaking out again, shouting NO! over and over. John looked over to Lestrade, and even he could see the monster dog.

John pointed out, “He is not drugged, Sherlock. So what’s that?”

“All right, it’s still here, but it’s just a dog, Henry. It’s nothing more than an ordinary dog.”

Etheldrea bowed her head and shut her eyes, trying to imagine a different dog in its place. But after seeing that, what was she supposed to imagine? A poodle? A corgi?

“NO!” Sherlock shouted, “It’s not you! You’re not here!”

Etheldrea looked up. Behind her, a man in a mask had emerged from the woods. Sherlock had pulled the mask off, and Etheldrea saw Doctor Frankland, but her dad was seeing someone else. Sherlock whirled Frankland around, away from the deepest section of fog, and he finally saw who it really was. He looked around the area in realization.

“The fog! It’s the fog! The drug, it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersal, that’s what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D, it’s the fog, a chemical minefield!”

As he said this, the dog was still advancing on them, jumping forward inch by inch.

Frankland saw the beast and shouted, “For god’s sake, kill it! Kill it!”

Lestrade shot and missed, but John, barely shaking, hit it straight away. The beast whined and fell back, down to the ground and lay unmoving. Etheldrea got to her feet, and took a step to her dad and Frankland. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Sherlock rushed forward and grabbed Henry, trying to get him to look at it. He bullied him forward, and Henry saw the dog. Rather massive, but now just a dog. Henry turned around and stared at Frankland, his face twisting in rage

“YOU BASTARD!” Henry yelled and rushed forward, tackling Frankland.

John and Lestrade tried pulling him off and succeeded.

“Why did you just kill me!?”

“Because dead men get listened to.” Sherlock answered, “He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet. A chemical minefield, pressure pads in the ground, dosing you up every time you came back here. Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once.”

He spun in a slow circle, arms raised and smiling, “Oh this case, Henry. Thank you. It’s been brilliant.”

Etheldrea covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, but John was not amused.

“Sherlock, _timing_.”

“Not good?”

“No, no, I’ts okay.” Henry said, “It’s fine, because this means . . . this means that my dad was right. He found something out, didn’t he, and that’s why you’d killed him – because he was right, and he’d found you right in the middle of an experiment.”

Behind them, the dog growled, apparently just stunned. John raised his gun and fired, killing it for good this time. It was distraction enough, that Frankland grabbed Etheldrea around the mouth and nose, and hauled her up to the top of the hollow. He shoved her down there, and took off.

She was immediately on her feet and after him, no more than feet away. The others were gaining fast, but not enough. She was so close, she could just almost reach his coat. They jumped over tree branches, ducked under them. The whole time she was shouting for him to stop, but he wouldn’t!

Etheldrea saw the barbed wire fence coming up. When Frankland climbed over it, she was ready to follow. One hand was on top of the wooden post, one foot on the second line. She pushed herself up, and started to cross a leg over.

“Etheldrea! No! Stop!”

But then, she felt arms circle her waist and pull her back. She felt herself fall backwards, and then she hit the ground, and there was a weight on top of her.

She saw the light of the blast from under whatever was covering her, and then she felt the heat and then the boom of the explosion. Frankland was gone, and she could have been right with him. The weight moved, and she looked to her right to see Sherlock.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, a bit breathless, “Yeah. I’m good. Uh, thanks.”

She turned back to the field, watching the remaining raining embers and smoke come down. Whatever was left of Frankland probably landed already. Everyone watched in melancholy that their criminal got away, but in relief that it was finally over.

* * *

The next morning, Etheldrea and John were sitting outside eating breakfast. John didn’t ask about last night, and Etheldrea didn’t say anything. Instead they talked about what they would do after they got home.

“I tried texting Abby for a time to meet.” She said, “But she hasn’t answered yet. Either way, I could just intercept her as she leaves school.”

Sherlock came around with mugs of coffee, “So they didn’t have it put down then, the dog.”

John replied, “Obviously. Suppose they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t.

“No, I don’t. Sentiment?”

“Sentiment!”

“Oh.”

Sherlock sat down, and John turned to look at him.

Pointing to Etheldrea, he asked, “Listen, what happened to us in the lab?”

Sherlock seemed to hesitate for a moment and then turned around and grabbed a packet box and ignored the question, “Do you want some sauce with that?”

“I mean, I hadn’t been to the Hollow, so how come we heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said.”

Not looking up, he replied, “You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes, pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so . . . Um, ketchup, was it, or brown-?”

 “Hang on- you thought it was in the sugar.”

Etheldrea set her fork down and looked at her father closely. He avoided looking directly at her, and was holding a neutral expression.

“You were convinced it was in the sugar.”

Sherlock looked at his watch, “Better get going, actually. There’s a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want . . .”

John looked at Etheldrea, both having the same looks on their face, “Oh God. It was you. You locked us in that bloody lab.”

“I had to. It was an experiment.”

“An experiment?!”

“Shhh.”

“I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death. Etheldrea fainted!”

Etheldrea growled, “We. Have. A. Contract. You’re not allowed to drug us!”

“Technically, I’m not allowed to drug your tea. It doesn’t say anything about coffee. I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, and then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions, well, literally. And Etheldrea might have had some contamination from her achluophobia, but in no way did I think your reactions would be that extreme. I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one.

John looked up at him and Sherlock sighed, “You know what I mean.”

“But it wasn’t in the sugar.”

“No, well, I wasn’t to know you’d already been exposed to the gas.”

“So you got it wrong.”

“No.”

“Mmm. You were wrong. It wasn’t in the sugar. You got it wrong.”

“A bit. It won’t happen again.”

Etheldrea scoffed, “Oh please. I may be able to count the number of times you’ve been wrong on one hand, but the fact of the matter is I still can.”

“I am sorry, by the way. I truly did not think you would faint, or well- you know.”

“You’re an ass. But you’re my favorite ass, so this is your last warning.”

John sighed, “Any long-term effects?”

“None at all. You’ll be fine once you’ve excreted it. We all will.”

“Think I might have taken care of that already.”

They all laughed, and then Sherlock stood and started to walk away.

“Where’re you going?”

“Won’t be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog.”

He left them alone, not aware that Etheldrea was plotting revenge.


	10. Pawns Part 1

Mrs. Hudson had been expecting their arrival, and was putting the finishing touches on some strawberry cheesecakes. Etheldrea couldn’t have imagined a better welcome home treat, or a better excuse to see her. John and Sherlock went upstairs to unpack, but Etheldrea took her time to help Mrs. Hudson.

“Don’t worry about it Mrs. Hudson.” She said, “I can take these up. You rest your hip.”

“Thank you Drea dear, you’re such a sweetheart. By the way, you need to give your friend a call. Her brother showed up the the day you left all in a flurry about some missing object she has. At least, I think that’s what he said. I told him you were going to be gone for a few days, and then he ran off.”

“Really? _He_ showed up? Hmm, I’ll look into it. Thank you Mrs. Hudson.”

Mrs. Hudson gave her a hug and then walked into the other room. Etheldrea waited until she was gone, and then went over to the medicine cabinet. She searched for a couple minutes until she found the bottle she needed, and went over to the cheesecake. She cut the slices, and set on aside.

She grabbed the bottle, pulled out the dropper and trickled the colorless, odorless liquid over the top. It blended right in with the sweet syrup, and she knew the sickly sweet taste would be masked. Etheldrea smiled, and went to put the bottle of sleeping syrup back in the cabinet, and then grabbed the plates.

She kept Sherlock’s in her right hand, and balanced hers and John’s on her left. Upstairs, she handed the plates out and they started to eat. At first, Sherlock wasn’t going to but to Etheldrea’s relief, John chastised him and he ate.

He only finished half, but it didn’t matter. He still ate most of the syrup. Etheldrea quickly finished hers, took his plate and went to go put them at the sink. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched her dad carefully. He was rubbing his eyes a bit more, blinking more too. She smirked and walked over, feigning that she was looking at the books.

“Feeling alright, dad?” she asked calmly.

“Tired is all.” He replied, “Bored. Need a new case.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll be occupied soon enough.”

She pursed her lips, trying to stop a laugh that was threatening to come out. Sherlock saw and narrowed his eyes at her. He stood up and took a clumsy step towards her.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

She turned a smile on her face, “John may have locked out medicine cabinet, but Mrs. Hudson’s was wide open.”

“Why?”

“You drug us, I’ll drug you.”

“ButI didn’tdr – drug you.”

“You attempted too- don’t worry John yours is safe.” She said as she saw him glance down at his plate.

Etheldrea grabbed Sherlock and led him back to his seat. She sat him down and he sprawled about, starting go under.

“Don’t worry; it’ll just be a couple of hours . . . or six.”

“Notfair.”

“Maybe you’ll think next time.”

“Grounded.”

“Right. How so?”

“No . . . no reading forfun.”

She smirked, “Goodnight dad.”

Etheldrea walked back to the couch and grabbed her phone. John watched her, torn between reprimanding her and saluting her.

“I take it you don’t get grounded often?”

“I would have to do something awfully bad for that to happen. He’ll forget about it when he wakes up.”

“You’re sure?”

“He can be a bit of idiot sometimes. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

John shook his head and laughed, “You’re as bad as he is.”

Etheldrea smiled at that, and then paid attention to her phone. Abigail still hadn’t texted her back, and school was just out. She starting thinking back to what Mrs. Hudson had said, about Abigail’s twin brother stopping by. Maybe it was her phone?

She sent a text, **I’m home now, wanna hear how it went? – EH**

After a few minutes, there was no reply.

“Everything ok?” John asked, “You look worried.”

She shook her head, “Fine, it’s all fine. Abigail hasn’t texted me back yet.”

“Maybe she’s busy.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She frowned, “It’s just; she’s the social queen. She loves texting and social media and all that. I haven’t seen anything from her since the day we left. And then Mrs.-“

There was loud banging on the front door, startling them both. Etheldrea glanced at her phone and then in the direction of the door. She set her phone down, stood up and started to walk towards the landing. Mrs. Hudson had opened the door and whoever was there apparently shoved passed her rudely, and was now rushing up the stairs.

“Etheldrea, get back.” John said in a warning town.

“Where is she?!” a voice started yelling.

A blonde boy barged into the flat, stopping just by the door. Etheldrea immediately recognised him as Adam Grey. She grabbed John and pulled him back so he wouldn’t attack.

“Where the hell have you been?! Do you know anything that’s been going on? Do you even care!?”

He was shouting, barely taking a breath, and gesturing all over the place. Etheldrea stood in front of him and grabbed his shoulder.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked when he stopped yelling.

“Abigail, she’s missing.” He said, and there was a glaring rage in his eyes as though he blamed her.

Etheldrea couldn’t think straight for a minute. Suddenly imagined everything single scenario there could be with a missing person, and the only person she knew could help was unwillingly passed out in his chair. Then she snapped back and pulled and shoved Adam over to the sofa. She sat on the table in front of him.

“Do the police know?”

“Yes, of course. Uh, your dad, is he-”

“Sleeping syrup. Won’t be up for hours. What do they think?”

“That she ran away. A camera at the end of the street saw her looking around like she was checking to make sure everything was clear, and then she walked off. They’re looking but not as hard as they should be.”

She shook her head, “Idiots. When? How long? Every detail, now.”

“The day you left. She normally leaves early to meet up with you, and then when I got to school, I noticed I didn’t see her in the halls or anything. And then at lunch, she was gone. Someone asked me where she was, and I didn’t know. I thought maybe you had dragged her off somewhere.”

“No, no way. I don’t need your parents anymore pissed at me. Did she say anything out of the ordinary?”

“How would I know? She’s with you almost constantly.”

She shook her head, “No, in the days leading up.”

“Like I said, she’s been with you, constantly.”

Etheldrea looked back at John with an odd expression and then turned back, “No, no she hasn’t. I haven’t actually hung out with her in about a week if you don’t count school.”

“Then- then where has she been? She told me she was with you!”

“She lied. Why would she lie?” she asked herself, “What’s so secret that she’s kept?”

“Secret?”

“Well obviously. If she was here, she would have told you guys she was with someone else. She always does, and then none of you are so cross with her. But she said she was here. How long? How long has she been saying she comes over here?”

“A few weeks I guess.”

Etheldrea stood up and started pacing, “No one saw her?”

“No.”

“No other cameras?”

“None.”

“No notes?”

“Nothing, no ransom, no calls.”

“Her school bag, is it missing too?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. I thought I saw it in her room.”

“Does she have her phone?”

“We think so. We can’t find it in the house, and the police couldn’t trace it.”

“Are they doing anything productive?”

“No, that’s why I came to you-“

“Rhetorical question. Parents, what are they thinking?”

“Kidnapped, and they’re trying to get the police to search harder, but they can only do so much.”

“What evidence have they found?”

“Nothing. No notes, no witnesses-“

“Her journals, have they checked her journals?”

“Yeah, there was nothing, literally nothing after January. She stopped keeping one.”

Etheldrea stopped pacing and looked at him, “No, she didn’t. I’ve seen her with one now and again. Did the police take anything?”

“The first day, yeah, but they returned it all.”

Etheldrea grabbed her coat and scarf and put them on. Then she searched through her father’s coat until she pulled out his toolkit. Then she quickly went to her room and grabbed her messenger bag and put the kit in it, and then came back.

“Let’s go.” She said, “John, you’re welcome to join.”

“Where are we going?” Adam asked.

“Your house. I need to search Abigail’s room.”

“But the police already-“

“And they found nothing.”

John stood up, “Maybe we should stay out of this one Etheldrea. The police are looking, and if you call your Uncle I’m sure he could do something. He always seems to.”

“No. I can do this.”

She strode out and down the stairs, and was quickly walking to the Grey’s just down the block. Adam and John were struggling to catch up with her. John chose to look around the area for clues. At the door, she waited until Adam let her in and then immediately went to Abigail’s room. She surveyed the room, looking for any disturbed areas near the furniture. The parents walked to the door, watching in irritation.

Mrs. Grey asked, “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t glance at them, but said “Finding your daughter.”

“The police are searching already. We don’t need you here.” Mr. Grey said.

“The police aren’t good enough. Adam told me everything. They’re all but useless at this point.”

“And you’re a professional how?”

“I can guarantee I will find Abigail within the week if not today.”

“How?”

“I’m not going to find her because I’m a detective. I’m going to find her she’s my best friend, my only friend. You must understand, I am fiercely protective of those I care about. Now, tell me every area of the room that was searched, for her journals specifically.”

Mr. Grey was ready to argue with her but Mrs. Grey stepped forward and started pointing.

“Everywhere, really. They found a bunch of her journals on the bookshelves but nothing recent. She always loves writing down everything in her life; I don’t know why she stopped. Under the bed, mattress, her nightstand, every drawer. Uh, the bookshelves, and they even moved things around to look for secret cubby holes but there was nothing.”

Etheldrea spun in a slow circle as she observed, “Nothing that you could find. That’s the thing. Hide an object in plain sight; you won’t be focused on it.”

She walked to the bookshelf and started pulling books out, opening them and then putting them back in.

“I keep a journal myself though I use it very, very rarely. John keeps an update on his blog quite well as it is. I taught her a few tricks, such as hollowing out books. She told me once that hiding a book within a book was a genius idea. If I could just find it-“

She stopped, turned around, and walked to the bed, “She’s always writing. She’d keep it close by.”

Etheldrea found only four books on the nightstand, and then another two in the headboard shelf. The two were just books, but the third book on the nightstand revealed just what she needed. The journal, with a grotesque pink heart theme, was sitting there.

She pulled it out and started to read.

“Should you be doing that?” Adam asked.

“Should the police have done it? She’s missing, seemingly runaway, and this is the only lead we’ve found.”

She continued with reading.

_January 28 st, 2012                                                                                                                            _

_Oh my god today was so exciting! See, we were walking through the park, and she saw this suspicious looking guy. Obviously we followed him, and as it turns out he was preparing to rob a convenient store, and she stopped him! Etheldrea is always saving the day! She’s absolutely amazing! I don’t understand how everyone thinks she’s a bitch. She doesn’t talk much at school but when it’s just us she’s always so nice and willing to put up with me. Did I ever tell you I talked to her about this cute guy I saw and she actually listened? Most of the time, I talk to other girls about guys and clothes and all that but they don’t listen as well as she does. She’s not the type to do that especially when it concerns relationships, but she does just for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like her._

Etheldrea stopped reading for a moment, processing what she just read.

“Well, does it say anything?” Adam asked.

“Uh, no, nothing. Nothing yet.”

She flipped forwards and skimmed the pages, not yet finding anything interesting. Not until she got to the end of February.

_February 24 th, 2012_

_I met this guy today. He’s so sweet, and nice, and he seemed really interested in me. We’re going to meet up tomorrow after I hang out with Etheldrea. I’m so excited to tell her!_

_February 25 th 2012_

_I couldn’t hang out with Etheldrea today, she was working on case, but I did get to see him again. He took me to this little café near school, and we just talked. It was so refreshing and nice, but there’s a slight problem. He’s twenty four. My parents would be so mad if they found out! He thinks so too, so we’re going to wait until my birthday to tell anyone. Even Etheldrea. I really hope I can keep it from her._

She looked up, “She was in a relationship with someone. Did you know?”

Everyone shook their heads. She looked through the rest of the dates.

_March 1 st_

_I met with him again. All we did was talk. He’s like Etheldrea, he’s listens. I told him about her, that they would make good friends. I told him that if we told Etheldrea, she’d probably keep our secret better than me, but he was really worried. Maybe next week._

_March 5 th_

_He bought me a flower! I pressed it into the back of this to keep it. It’s such a beautiful red!_

_March 8 th_

_He gave me another flower! It looks like a star, and it’s such a pretty pink. I put it in the back too!_

_March 12 th_

_He gave me a little bunch of purple flowers today. He’s such a sweet heart._

_March 13 th_

_Guess what? Another flower! I know for sure what this one is called. Poppy! We talked today, and since my birthday is next week, he said we could tell Etheldrea! I’m so excited! We’re going to tell her tomorrow! I can’t wait!_

The thirteenth was the last date.

“Well, what do they say?” Mrs. Grey asked.

“She’s been seeing someone. No name, it just says ‘him’. He’s twenty-four. They weren’t going to tell you until her birthday.”

“What? How- Why- I don’t understand.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “I’m not sure what to make of this yet either.”

She flipped to the back of the journal and found the flowers that had been mentioned. Abigail wasn’t as knowledgeable in flowers as Etheldrea was, and she recognized the types immediately. A red geranium, a pink oleander, purple rhododendron, and a red poppy.

She stood up and held up the journal, “May I take this?”

“Why, where are you going? Do you know where she is?”

“No, not yet, but I need to do some research. I promise you, any new information I find, I will tell you as soon as I possibly can.”

She started to leave but Mrs. Grey stopped her, “Did she runaway?”

“No. Whoever she’s been seeing took her.”

“Why?”

Etheldrea scratched her nose, “No clue.”

Quickly she left and met John outside. She called for a cab, and they headed for St. Bart’s.

John asked, “Well, do you know what’s going on?”

“I know enough. She’s been seeing someone, and he’s been giving her flowers. Luckily, I know flowers meanings.”

“And what do they mean?”

She opened the journal to the flowers and pointed them out one by one.

“Geranium for stupidity or folly. He’s calling her stupid for falling for him. Oleander, not only is it poison when consumed, but it also means caution. He was warning her about him no doubt. The rhododendron has the most obvious meaning, I am dangerous. And the poppy, well you’ve seen Wizard of Oz I’m sure.”

“Falling asleep?”

“Eternal sleep. He’s going to kill her.”


	11. Pawns Part 2

Etheldrea quickly entered the hospital, leaving John to pay for the cab and having to run after her. She didn’t stop once, walking with a mission to the morgue.

“What are we doing here?” John asked.

“I need to talk to an expert.” She said.

“An expert? In what?”

She pushed through the doors to where Molly Hooper was working with a deceased old man.

“Psychopathic boyfriends.” She said quietly, “Hello Molly! Could you spare me a minute?”

Molly looked over to them and then back to the body, “Uh, sure. Is Sherlock on a case?”

Etheldrea shook her head, “No, no not him. Me. I need your help.”

“Ok, what kind of body do you need?”

“I don’t need a body. I need you, well, you’re experiences. You’ve dated Moriarty. I need to know what it was like.”

“ _What?_ ” Molly asked incredulously.

“I need to find someone.” Etheldrea sighed, “Abigail is missing. Taken by I’m assuming her boyfriend, who has been secretly threatening her. There is nothing in the diary leading to secret places they’ve met or meet ups. If anything, it seems like he finds her and then they go to a café.”

“Well, can’t you just go to a café and ask?”

“There are well over three thousand cafes, half of which are chains, in London. Ten alone within a mile radius of Baker Street. Molly, I need to know what he was like. How he acted, things he did, that at the time seemed ordinary, but now that you know the truth are actually very suspicious.”

Molly shook her head, “I’m not really sure. Honestly, I’m trying to forget everything.”

“Molly, _please_. It’s been three days. She could already be-“ she shook her head, “She’s my best friend, she’s my only friend. Anything that helps figure out how his mind works.”

“Well, we always had coffee in the canteen, never anywhere else. If I suggested we go somewhere, he’d change the topic around. He’d come over to my house, I never went to his. Uh, I’m sorry. I’m really not sure. He was good. Well, not good, but good at . . . faking everything. He even acted interested in Toby.”

Etheldrea nodded, “Ok. No, this is good. He fooled you, Abby was too. What about when he left you? How did he act that day?”

“Actually, I left him.”

“Really?” she asked with wide eyes, “Good for you. Oh! This changes things! How did he react?”

“He was mad. Really mad, more than I’ve ever seen him. We fought, and then he stormed out. I didn’t hear anything from him again. It wasn’t until I read the blog that I knew.”

“Did he say anything that seemed off?”

“No- well, he did say I was wrong about everything. He said I figure it out eventually. At the time it seemed usual, but now . . .”

Etheldrea started pacing, “No, nothing unusual there. I just don’t understand. I don’t have enough data, or evidence. The journal is far from informative. She tried so hard to keep it secret, barely mentioning details in the off chance she was caught. The flowers he gave her, easily bought or picked from a park. UGH! This is maddening!”

John said, “Let’s just calm down. Let’s go to Lestrade, and see if we can get access to the case. Maybe there’s some video?”

“There is video, but it’s not helpful. She leaves down the street, and then she disappears form every other camera. Just poof, gone.”

“Maybe they missed something.”

“Maybe, and if they didn’t then it’s just a waste of time. There’s got to be something I’m missing. There has to be.”

She stopped pacing and looked down at the journal in her hands. She flipped it open and started rereading.

“Something changed. He courted her for nearly a month. Why? If he really wanted her dead, she would have been. They’ve been alone quite enough for him to do so, so why take her now?”

“Where they meeting up at a special place on the last day? Is it in there?” John asked.

“No, nothing. No details. The last entry was the night before we left for Dartmoor. She was going to tell me the day we left, but she couldn’t.  Wait, it says ‘they’. As though they were going to show up or something. Both of them would be there.”

Molly asked, “What does that mean?”

Etheldrea looked up at them, “I’m what changed. He was more than likely expecting me to be there and she showed up without me.”

“Why would he kidnap her if you weren’t there?”

Etheldrea shook her head, “I’m not sure yet. The explanation is there, but I can’t make it out.”

Her phone started ringing and she pulled it out. It said Abigail on the screen and she answered quickly.

“Where are you?” she asked immediately, “I’ll be there in a flash.”

 _“Sorry, but this isn’t quite who you were expecting.”_ A masculine voice on the other end said.

“Who-“

“ _No, no, no. If you want your friend to live, you will do no talking. I must say, I was very disappointed I didn’t have the chance to meet you. I hope you got my messages. Now, you’re going to meet me alone. Don’t worry, I know all about that little security system your Uncle has, and I’ve been working on a way around it. But, to find me, you’ll have to do some searching. At St Bart’s in the labs, you’ll find an envelope under the first table to the right. Instructions are there. You have three hours. If you’re not here by then, good luck finding her body.”_

The called ended and Etheldrea slowly lowered the phone.

“What’s happened?” John asked.

“The puzzle is fitting together. The flower message wasn’t for her. It was for me. Thank you for your help Molly.”

She walked past them and to the labs. John followed behind and Molly debated going to help but decided against it. In the labs, a white envelope sat on the table. Etheldrea grabbed it and from the unsealed paper, pulled out a single stock card with the words **_Wait here until you are called._** printed on it.

She sighed and sat down, feeling utterly exasperated, “Seriously? He calls me to tell me to look for instructions, and then my instructions are to wait until he calls? Seriously?”

John sat across form her, “We should call the Yard.”

“That could be the very thing that gets her killed. He said I have two hours, so he must be someplace that is at the very least an hour away. He wants me to find him, but he wants me to search first not just show up. There’s got to be something he wants.”

“But we won’t know until he calls.”

“Just sit and wait. Tedious.”

“How do you know the flower messages? I didn’t know flowers could be so . . . threatening.”

“My grandmother taught me. Flowers are this weird; you could say tradition, in her family. I learned the meanings of flowers, how to make and decode messages, hell I’m named after Wisteria’s.”

“That’s really interesting.”

“It’s really not. There’s no reason to know these things anymore. Flower messages are a thing of the Victorian era.”

“And yet you haven’t deleted it.”

“I couldn’t do that to my grandmother, she’d be crushed.”

Etheldrea looked at her phone, which was sitting in front of her, and groaned, “It’s been ten minutes!”

“We just need to wait.”

And wait they did. Thirty minutes in, no call. Forty. No call. AN hour, no call. Etheldrea was getting antsy as the time went on. An hour and ten minutes went by. An hour and twenty. An hour and thrity. Two hours. Two and a half. Two and forty.

“Something’s wrong, there has to be. There’s only twenty minutes left.”

The doors to the lab opened and Molly walked in. When she saw them, she looked surprised.

“I didn’t know you guys would still be here. I thought you’d be down at the  . . . thing. The police raid or whatever it is.”

Etheldrea and John looked at each other, confused, and then back to Molly.

“What raid?” Etheldrea asked.

“The one by the Battersea Power Station. You know those old warehouses that are scheduled for demolition? I thought that might have been where you guys found her.”

“When was this?”

“About twenty minutes ago I think.”

“Do you know why?”

“Well, it was a hostage situation. There weren’t many details.”

Etheldrea stood up and rushed out the door and John followed after. A cab, which seemed to hit every single red light there was, took them as far as he could, about two blocks away from the area, and Etheldrea ran again. She was stopped by a constable though, and John intervened before she could get into any serious trouble. John pulled her away and forced in her place.

“You can’t do any good if you get yourself arrested.” He said, “Now let’s just wait and see what goes on.”

“He wants _me_. I need to get in there.”

She looked around, searching through the many officers past the tape, and then found jus the person she needed. Lestrade was standing with a walkie-talkie, and watching the building. She got as close to the tape as she could and shouted for him. He turned after a couple calls, and then waved them over.

Etheldrea ran over, and immediately asked, “Who’s inside?”

“A teen girl-“

“Abigail Grey.”

“Yeah how did- oh! My god, Etheldrea, I’m so sorry.”

“I need to get in there Lestrade. The guy who has her, he wants me. I need to talk to him, alone.”

“I’m not sending you in there, especially not without backup or your dad here.”

“He’s sleeping!”

“No wonder he wasn’t answering my calls. I tried you and John both, but I was getting nothing.”

“What? We didn’t receive any calls.”

“Well I did, three times on all three of you.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “We didn’t get any calls. But I need you to listen. The man who has her, he called me. Said he was going to call me with instructions to find her, but something went wrong. I need to get in there or he’ll kill her. He wants to talk to me.”

Lestrade sighed, and after a minute said “You’re going in there with a swat team, got it? Not alone.”

“Fine, fine. Just get me in there.”

A few minutes later, Etheldrea was surrounded on all sides and walking in. There was a door, locked, at the end of the hall, and it didn’t open until she spoke. Still surround, she walked into the room.

The man was neatly groomed with blonde hair and hard brown eyes. He was standing behind Abigail, holding her against him with a knife at her throat. She looked scared, confused, and then relieved when she saw Etheldrea.

“One minute to.” The man said, “I gotta say, I expected more form you.”

“Yeah, well, I never got a call.”

“What are you talking about?”

“So the envelope, it didn’t tell me to wait for someone to call?”

“No, far from it.”

“Can we then perhaps do this another day then? Someone screwed up.”

“Sorry, but I think we both know that won’t happen.”

“Right. Well, I found you, now let her go.”

“Sorry, but I need to know something first.”

“Well, as I told you, there was an envelope mix up, so I don’t know what you want.”

“Is Moriarty still hidden in the little prison your Uncle has?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know he was caught.”

“If he’s still there, you can say good bye to this little dove here.”

“I don’t know!”

The man sneered and pressed the knife closer to Abigail’s throat, “Well too bad. Tell your father Jim can’t wait to play.”

Etheldrea felt herself being pulled back, and then there was a gunshot, and Abigail was screaming, men were shouting. Was that blood on the floor? Somehow, she found herself back outside standing next to Lestrade. John was in front of her, waving a hand in front of her face but she didn’t register it right away.

“Ethel, can you hear me?” he asked, “Etheldrea?”

“Abigail, is she- was she-“

At that moment, she saw a familiar blonde head lying on a stretcher as it was pulled out of the warehouse. A moment later, a body wrapped in a sheet was pulled out too. She tried to run over, but multiple arms were holding her back.

“Etheldrea, stop!” Lestrade told her, “You can’t go yet.”

“I’m not answering any questions until I know she’s going to be alright.”

“It’s fine, Inspector.” A voice behind them said, “Any questions you have will be answered by my assistant.”

They turned around to find Mycroft Holmes standing there, with ‘Anthea’ behind him. He motioned to John and Etheldrea to follow him.

“What did you do?” Etheldrea asked as they walked to a black car.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have some explaining to do. So what did you do? Did you know the entire time she was missing? Are you the one who switched the envelope?”

“I’ll answer all your questions when we get to the hospital. Don’t worry, the Grey family are already on their way.”

* * *

Etheldrea paced the floor of the hospital lobby. Abigail was on a different floor, talking to trauma experts apparently, and recovering from a slight cut on her arm. A sniper had shot her kidnapper, Mike Isles, from behind. He was dead, but the questions Etheldrea had had for him were not.

“I want you to tell me everything, Uncle Mycroft. Everything.”

“I found out about the same time as you that your friend had gone missing. Of course you would search for her, and I was more than willing to let you. That is, until I heard the little phone call between you and Mr. Isles.”

“How?”

“You’re under the highest level of security I have; you don’t think your phone is bugged? After I heard that, I had someone go check on the envelope, and they found this.” He pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her, “There wasn’t much time, so I had them write a new message and leave it there.”

**_Dear Miss Holmes,_ **

**_You will do everything in your power and then some to have James Moriarty released. He himself will tell you my location, and then you may come find me. If you don’t, Abigail Grey is dead._ **

“I couldn’t let you go on about letting Moriarty roam free. So I did what I could in making sure you stayed in the lab. The switch and also jamming your phones so that you couldn’t be reached. It was a shame that Miss Hooper ruined it.”

“You nearly got her killed.”

“He’s a high profile case, and I couldn’t let him go because of someone threatening a child. Unfortunately, I was forced to due to command from someone high up.”

“Threatening a child? She’s my best friend! You complete, utter- she could have died! Wait a minute, you talked to him I’m sure. So you probably knew where she was, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you still didn’t let me go.”

“Like I said, I did what I could in making sure you stay in the lab.”

“You knew the entire time, while I was sitting there worrying myself to death, you knew where she was and didn’t tell me. Would you do something like that if it was Dad and John, or dad and I?”

Mycroft didn’t say anything.

“Why? Is it because she’s not important to you? Is it because I’m not as good as dad?”

“You father would kill me if I had let you do anything about this.”

“No, this is because I’m still a child in your eyes, isn’t it? A child ‘who can’t take care of herself or the ones she loves because she’ll let sentiment get in the way.’ That’s what you said to me all those years ago.”

“I’ve told you father before, caring is not an advantage. I don’t understand the prospect of keeping friends if all you do is get them hurt.”

Etheldrea lunched at him, but was stopped by John.

“You’re a bastard!” she yelled, “I can’t believe you!”

John shushed her, in a loud whisper, “Just calm down. Don’t give me that look, I’m pissed too, but if you don’t calm down, you’ll be kicked out. Is that what you want?”

She huffed and turned away from them both, walking away. She glanced as the doors opened and Sherlock walked in, still looking a bit tired. He stopped by her and waited for an explanation.

“Have John explain it to you. Unlike your brother, he won’t keep anything from you.”

Sherlock looked up at them, “What the hell did I miss?”

“A lot.” She replied stormily.

She went back to her pacing and Sherlock walked over to John and Mycroft who went over everything again. About ten minutes later, Adam Grey walked into the lobby and to Etheldrea.

“She’s asking for you, want’s to talk to you. Fifth floor. Room nineteen-fourteen.”

Etheldrea nodded and walked to the elevator. As she rode up, she thought about everything that had happened, everything her Uncle had said. He was right on some aspects, and she really hated when he was right. Especially when he went on to imply things but never outright say them.

Abigail was here because of Etheldrea. She knew it. Abigail would always be in danger because she was Etheldrea Holmes, The Detective’s Daughter. And while she was proud of that title, the cost was becoming too much. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had a decision to make.


	12. Pawns Part 3

Etheldrea got off the lift and walked to the room. The door was partially shut and opened with a small creak. Abigail was lying on a bed and reading a magazine. She looked up as Etheldrea entered and a giant smile crossed her face. She put the magazine down and pointed to a chair.

“Hey!” she said, “Come sit down! I missed you!”

Etheldrea walked to stand in front of the bed, and said quietly, “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Abigail frowned a bit, “Alright, if you like. How was Dartmoor? I read you guys had a huge adventure!”

“Uh . . . It was fine. Other than, you know, getting drugged by a fear gas and then almost getting blown up. But, it’s not important.”

“Not important? You convinced a crazy guy that he isn’t in fact crazy! And you solved a murder! That is so cool! I wish I had been there!”

She looked down as she said, “It would have been much better than where you were.”

Abigail sighed, “Please don’t do this whole guilt thing. You’re hardly at fault here. It’s all on me.”

“No, it’s on me. You were locked up for three days, no food, no water, all because I was gone.”

“Yeah, I mean, I was absolutely _starving_ to get out of there.”

 “Abby, no.”

 “Okay, that wasn’t a good one but I mean, I was in a really _dark place_.”

“Please stop.”

 “But then you came and saved the day! Man, Miles was such a _thorn_ in my side.”

“Abigail, _enough_!”

“Did you get that one? He gave me a lot of flowers- are you okay?”

Etheldrea was gripping the end of the bed hard enough her knuckles went white. When she spoke next it was with a hard edge and bit to her voice.

“He took you to get to me, so that I could him what he wanted. You were almost killed because of me.”

“Key word is almost. Seriously, it’s not like it’s the most dangerous thing I‘ve done. What about all the people I’ve tackled, and hit and kicked, and most of them were way bigger than me.”

“It is the most danger you’ve been in though, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Abigail frowned, having her best friend speak to her like this, when never in her life had she, was starting to scare her.

“What are you saying?” Abigail asked quietly.

Etheldrea relaxed her grip and sighed, “. . . I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This ‘friend’ business. I can’t keep watching out for you, making sure you don’t get hurt. It’s took much work and effort on my part.”

“Then we won’t chase after criminals anymore.”

“That’s what my life is, and there’s no room for you in it.”

“What?”

She looked utterly heartbroken. Etheldrea bit her tongue, feeling a guilty sensation flood through her. Every lie stung like acid, but she knew it was necessary.

“You knew right from the start I didn’t know much about friendships. That’s because I had no need for them, and I’ve realized that I still don’t.”

 “No! Why- how can you say that? You can’t-“

“I can’t what? Stop a friendship? I think I can. You pick your friends and I don’t pick you.”

“So, what? You’re just going to go back to being alone all the time?”

“Of course. It’s so much better that way.”

“No, it’s not. How could you want that? Who wants to be alone?”

“Being alone is strength.”

“Building up walls so that no one can help you? That’s strength?”

“Yes.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“Let me spell it out for you then. I’ve been wasting my time with you. I’m done with you. I don’t want to be friends.”

“How can you be such- such a- a bitch?”

“It’s quite easy actually. Have a nice day.”

Etheldrea turned on the hell of her boot and walked away. She was barely out the door when she heard Abigail start crying. Adam was on his way back in and looked confused when he passed by her. She kept walking until she was in the elevator and going down.

As she got off just in view of Sherlock and John, Mycroft now gone, from another lift Adam came running after her. He grabbed her arm, forced her back and started yelling.

“What the hell did you say to her!?”

“What needed to be said. Be happy, I’m out of your family’s hair now and forever.” She said with too big of smile.

“So you’re just going to leave her there? I thought you said-“

“I say a lot of things that I don’t mean. Now, go, she’s the type who needs someone to comfort her when she’s upset.”

She quickly turned and walked to the doors, and her dad and John quickly followed after. She kept walking down the sidewalk, despite that John was calling for a taxi.

“Go without me. I’ll see you later.” She called to them.

Sherlock watched for a moment and then turned to John and told him to go, and then went to catch up with Etheldrea. He didn’t speak to her as he walked alongside her, and instead waited for her to begin. They walked for a while, Etheldrea leading the entire time, until they stopped at a park.

Etheldrea sat down on a bench and Sherlock sat next to her. She fiddled with the ends of her scarf and was blinking more than average. She was on the verge of tears.

Softly, she said, “I basically cut ties with Abigail. Told her she was annoying and that I didn’t want friends, and I was wasting my time. I barely even thought about the things I was saying. I just wanted her to believe and then leave. Did- did I do the right thing?”

“What are you hoping to accomplish?”

“I don’t want her getting hurt; I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Will this accomplish anything?”

“She shouldn’t want to be my friend anymore. She’ll stay away from me. If we aren’t friends, no one can use that.”

“No one, or a certain person?”

“Of course certain people, if you want to call _him_ that. But anyone else along that way. We’re Holmes, we’re danger magnets. Well, Uncle Mycroft’s more of a cake magnet but he does work in Intelligence.”

“Your Uncle is part of this whole mess. He should have told you.”

“It’s too late to change anything.”

“Is it? Because despite what he thinks, he’s not always right.”

“This time he is. He was right about me, about how I act, why I should have stayed away from this entire thing.”

“It doesn’t sound too horrible. This ‘entire thing’ is about you having a friend.”

“This entire thing is about Moriarty. He has a message for you, by the way. _He can’t wait to play._ ” She shook her head, “I am so sick of being a catalyst, of being a pawn. I hate it so much. But I know I can’t stop it, but that shouldn’t mean the people around me get hurt.”

“So you shouldn’t have anyone around you? Do you think that’s better?”

“Do you?”

“I think it’s safer but,” he wrapped and arm around her and pulled her close, “I’ll let in you on something. I’d rather have John, Mrs. Hudson, and Geoff Lestrade-“

“Greg.”

“Whatever, I’d rather have the three of them than none.”

“But they can take care of themselves. Abigail can barely defend herself.”

“It sounds like you’ve made your choice.”

“It’s not too late to change?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

She sighed, still conflicted, “I’ll have to think about it.”

* * *

A few days later, John and Sherlock were discussing a potential case when Etheldrea walked in. She had her school bag with her, almost ready to go despite it being so early. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple. As she started to take a bite, there was loud knocking coming from the front door. A moment later, Mrs. Hudson was letting them in and they rushed up stairs.

It was Abigail, looking much better than the day before but also very, very pissed off. She looked around and spotted Etheldrea and marched over to her.

“We’re moving. Back to Manchester. This weekend. Why?”

Etheldrea shook her head, “I don’t very much care.”

“Stop pushing me away!”

“Stop clinging on. People move, friendships disperse. You know that more than anyone. How is this move different from any other? If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to school.”

She kept a straight face and tried to move passed her but was stopped.

“You can’t say you don’t care, you just can’t. You’re not like that.”

“Who are you to tell me what I’m like?”

“You’re my best friend, and despite what you say, I’m yours too. I know you-“

“You don’t know anything. You are a sad, scared, little girl who is trying to get a reaction out of me because she feels like the world is crashing around her. Maybe if let things go, you’d feel better. Now, school is waiting. ”

“I don’t feel like the world is crashing around me-“

“Yes you do.”

Etheldrea saw Abigail’s left hand move up put barely had time to register the slap that came from it. The sound echoed throughout the flat, making the boy’s pause, and Etheldrea begin to fume.

She sneered in a rapid fire deduction, “Want me to prove it? You dated you abductor for quite a while, fell hard and fast, and then he betrayed you. The person you think of as your friend doesn’t want to be. And you’re enduring many questions from friends and even the media though you don’t want to answer them while correspondingly having many questions of your own. –“

“Questions? I don’t-“

“The only person who has the answers is now dead, and the person who you think has the answers doesn’t want you around. You think that by coming here and attacking me will reveal those answers when it can’t, and only makes me angry. Of course you have questions, you always do, you’re always trying to understand things especially me. Right now you don’t, don’t understand why I’m doing this, why I’m telling you these things. But just to humor you, I’ll try to answer. I told you January of last year you would be better off with friends of your status. Imagine if you were with them now and had never talked to me, we would be much better off. You in a stupid little cliché of cookie cutter girls and gossiping the latest celebrities, doing the things you like and keeping me out of it. I would be the quiet Holmes girl that no one much cared about and it would be perfect. Away from me, from my life, and I wouldn’t have you trailing after me like a puppy. Friends are a weakness, alone is protection.”

Abigail looked as though she was the one who had been slapped.

She asked, “So none of this means anything to you then?”

“No.”

“You feel no regret?”

“Why should I?”

Abigail was crying, tears streaming down her face, and she shouted “Fine!” before storming out and away.

Etheldrea put the apple she was still holding down, adjusted her coat and scarf and turned to John and Sherlock who had watched in shock, unsure of what to do.

“I’ll be at the library after school if you need me.” She said and walked away.

Sherlock called after a moment, “There might be a case. I’ll text you the location.”

“Don’t. You’ll hardly need me there.” She called back as she walked down the stairs.

She was out the door before he could stop her. John wanted to say something and maybe even sit down with Etheldrea and talk to her about this but he wasn’t her father. He was just her flat mate, so what rights did he have to parental things? He thought that was up to Sherlock, and _he_ tried very hard to get her to see things his way but she wouldn’t. All because she was too stubborn to listen, too much like her father or so she thought she was.

She tried to convince herself that she knew what was best for her and that she was doing the right thing. She tried despite the hurt it brought her, and tried to cast aside emotions like Sherlock did but she only held onto them. If she constantly did that, someday that stone wall she built would burst and neither men were sure they would be ready for that.

* * *

A week later, ten after eight that night, Sherlock was getting ready to go to the library to pick up Etheldrea as he didn’t want her out this late if there were any more threats. Every day she had gone right after school had ended, falling back and with ease it seemed into the same routine she had before John and Abigail entered their lives. But, he didn’t need to go as she walked into the flat with her phone against her ear. She shook her head as she ended it and put the phone down on the table.

“I need to change my number; this is getting out of hand.” She muttered to herself.

Sherlock waited until she disappeared into the bathroom for her shower before he picked her phone up. He entered the voicemail and entered in her passcode, two-two-one-eight, and listened to the last message she had. Abigail had left it, obviously, and sounded sad but determined.

_“Look, I know this wasn’t easy for you, and I know you are only doing it to protect me. I’m not a genius like you are but I can figure out some things, and get information from my parents. Fiercely protective, huh? I’m so sorry about everything I said and did, I wasn’t thinking and I was upset, but it’s no excuse. Please just pick up and talk to me, please. You’re like the sister that I wish my brother had been, and I want it to stay that way. I know you’re in a dark place after all of this, and I know you feel alone. But, I want you to know that you’re not, okay? Like, imagine an actual dark place and you are there and you’re lost but I’m in that dark place with you and I’m waving a torch around and calling your name. So, if you can see me, then come get me and we’ll find a way out just like we always do. But if you can’t, then- then stay there because I’ll find you! Got it? Alright. Uh, bye.”_


	13. The Reichenbach Fall Part 1

It had been three weeks since the fight. Etheldrea rarely left Baker Street for something other than school. Both John and Sherlock had tried different tactics to have her go to cases or just getting out of Baker Street but she wasn’t having any of it. She stuck to her books, and followed an almost strict schedule. Wake up, go to school (which wasn’t going as bad as everyone had thought according to Mycroft), go to the library, go home, and repeat.

Her attitude hadn’t changed; she still talked and laughed, and joked with them. But, Sherlock had heard her sniffling as he passed the bathroom once. He had thought about talking to her again, even considered calling Abigail, but he knew it wouldn’t have been good. She was as stubborn as he was and a temper to match. There would be nothing but yelling, and biting remarks, and nothing would be resolved.

Meanwhile, cases were still coming in and getting more and more, well, public! After Henry Knights case, word traveled and spread and soon cases were coming from everywhere and everyone. A priceless painting was recovered, a banker had been kidnapped, and even a wanted criminal by Interpol had been caught. Etheldrea had watched the news report on that one, laughing when she saw her dad put the dreaded deerstalker on and the grimacing slash smile that had gone with it.

A few days after that particular event, she was sitting next to John on the couch as they looked at the newspapers. The headlines were blaring and pictures of Sherlock decorated them all.

“’Boffin’? Boffin Sherlock Holmes.”

“Everybody get one.” John said.

“One what?”

“Tabloid nickname. Subo, Nasty Nick. Ethel here even has one. Shouldn’t worry, I’ll probably get one soon.”

“Page five, column six, first sentence.” He grabbed the hat and punched it, “Why is it always the hat photograph?”

When John said she had one, Etheldrea immediately picked up a paper and looked through it. She found a short blurb about her.

She snorted, “’Elusive?’ The Elusive Etheldrea Holmes?”

“’Bachelor John Watson.’ Bachelor?”

Sherlock asked, “What kind of hat is it, anyway?”

“What the hell are they implying?”

“Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?”

“It’s a deerstalker.” Etheldrea muttered, “Always hidden away? Is it her father keeping her form the light, or is she not the clone of Holmes that past clients have said her to be? Are they saying I’m stupid? I think they are.”

John read off, “Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson.”

Sherlock asked, “How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What am I going to do, throw it?”

“Confirmed bachelor John Watson!”

“Is it like some sort of death Frisbee?”

Etheldrea held up he hands and he tossed it. She caught and tossed it back, and then he tossed it again. As it came back to her, John reached and took it, ending the game and gaining two Holmes glares. Etheldrea snatched it back and tossed it back to Sherlock.

“Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.”

Sherlock wasn’t paying attention, looking over the hat, “It’s got flaps. Ear flaps, it’s an ear hat, John!”

He tossed it back and noticed the look on his face, “What do you mean more careful?”

John nodded to the hat, “I mean this isn’t a deerstalker now. It’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective anymore.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “Well, he’s never really been a ‘private’ detective.”

“consulting, private. What’s the difference? You’re this far from famous!”

Sherlock sat down and sighed, “Oh, it’ll pass.”

“It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn. And they’ll turn on you.”

Etheldrea thought that over, trying to imagine what the headlines would say then. How could they turn? He solved crimes for a living. He didn’t commit them.

“It really bothers you.” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“What people say?”

“Yes.”

“About me. I don’t understand. Why would it upset you?”

John ignored the question, “Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.”

* * *

A couple days later, Etheldrea was sitting with a group of students for a class project. She stayed quite, only telling them answers or information when they were completely stuck. There was a TV playing the news in the background but she wasn’t paying attention. Not until she heard, or rather, didn’t hear, the room quiet all noise did she look up.

It was a news lady standing in front of the Tower of London, reporting how a man had broken into the Tower and was sitting on the Crown Jewels. You could barely see what was going on in the back but Etheldrea could just make out officers bringing someone out and putting him in a squad car.

The man wasn’t clear but she swore he looked familiar. She’d have to figure it out later. No one went back to their projects, now watching as the Tower wasn’t the only place broken into in the past hour. The Bank of England and Pentonville Prison had been target. A few students started to panic.

The teacher’s phone rang, and she dreaded that it would be tons of parents calling in for their kids. However, at the moment it was only one.

“Etheldrea,” she called, “Pack up your things. You’re being picked up.”

“By whom?” she asked.

“Me.” A voice behind them said.

She turned and saw Sherlock at the door, and he said, “Sorry, you aren’t getting out of this one.”

Etheldrea grabbed her things, ignoring the stares of everyone and left with him. As they walked out of the building and to John waiting in a cab, she questioned what was going on.

“I’ll assume this is about the Bank, and the Tower and the Prison. Who did it?”

“Moriarty.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, “What? Sorry, no, I’m going back to class.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled, “No, you’re coming with me. I told you, you’re not getting out of this one.”

“Why?”

“Because the last time he was behind bars, he sent someone after you. He won’t try again if you stay with me. I don’t need that distraction right now.”

“Your sentiment is over whelming.” She said snarky, “Why did he do it? He was in prison only weeks ago, wasn’t he? Why would he go back?”

“I intent to find out.”

They got into the car and rode to Scotland Yard. Lestrade brought them to a video room and showed them the tape of what happened. Etheldrea watched as Moriarty knocked a guard unconscious with a spray, wrote something on the glass of the display case, and then put a piece of gum in the middle.

Lestrade said, “That glass is tougher than anything.”

Sherlock replied, “Not tougher than crystallized carbon. He used a diamond.”

Lestrade pressed a couple of buttons and replaced the feed with a different angle. The tape rewound, starting with the broken glass going back into place, and paused at the message written. It sent just a tiny pang of fear in her.

**_GET SHERLOCK_ **

There was even a tiny smiley face in the O, reminding her of the smiley face on their wall. He had been to their home months ago, just touring the place and commenting on the flat while they had been out. He had hacked into John’s blog and posted the video. John hadn’t known how but both Etheldrea and Sherlock reminded him that his computer was easily broken into, why his blog couldn’t be.

* * *

Etheldrea didn’t go to school the next morning, but she got up an hour earlier anyway. The trial was today, and her father was going to be the star witness. She dressed nicely, black dress pants, and a purple blouse. She left her scarf and coat home for the day, choosing a black suit jacket instead.

After pushing her breakfast around, it was time to go. They all paused at the door, preparing for the slaughter of reporters outside.

“Ready?” John asked.

“Yes.”

Etheldrea took a breath, and then John opened the door. One officer, barely enough, was there to help them to the car. People were shouting questions, yelling and pining for attention. She kept her head down, whishing her hair was long enough to cover her face. Quickly she entered the car, sitting in the middle with Sherlock on her right and John to the left.

They were silent for most of the ride there. Before the court house was visible, John went over the precautions they had.

“Remember-“

“Yes.”

“Remember what they told you. Don’t try to be clever-“

“No.”

“And please just keep it simple and brief.”

“God forbid the star witness in the trial should come across as intelligent.”

“Intelligent fin. Let’s give smartass a wide berth.”

“I’ll just be myself.”

“Are you listening to me?”

Etheldrea rolled her eyes but didn’t say a word. She knew that at some point today her dad was going to get kicked out of the court for saying something he shouldn’t. It was just part of his nature. As the court came into view, they all sat a bit straighter, a bit tenser.

More reports were around, though kept back by ropes and many more officers. Etheldrea ignored their calls and hurried inside the building. They waited in the lobby for a bit, and then Sherlock wnet to the bathroom.

 _“Crown versus Moriarty please proceed to Court Ten.”_ A PA announced.

“Let’s go.” John said and ushered Etheldrea towards the room. They took their seats towards the back. She avoided looking in the direction of the defense. As it started, her dad was called up. She crossed her fingers in her lap and hoped everything would be fine for at least fifteen minutes.

“A consulting criminal?” the barrister asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied.

“Your words. Can you expand on that answer?”

“James Moriarty is for hire.

“A tradesman?”

“Yes.”

“But not the sort who’d fix your heating.”

“No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.”

Etheldrea smirked and chuckled along with a few people in the court. John smirked a bit too. Everything was going fine so far.

“Would you describe him as-“

He interrupted, “Leading.”

 “What?”

“Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness.” He nodded towards the defender, “He’ll object and the judge will uphold.”

“Mr. Holmes.” The judge said in exasperation.

“Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?”

“Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.”

Etheldrea sighed. It was coming. This was going to be a rather short trial, she knew it. She looked up behind her as a red haired woman, a reporter, entered. She sat down a few seats away, but Etheldrea felt her gaze on her. She ignored and watched the trial.

“How would you describe this man – his character?”

“First mistake. James Moriarty isn’t a man at all. He’s a spider; a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.

“And how long-“

He rolled his eyes, “No, no, don’t-don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.”

“Mr. Holmes.” The judge said in a warning tone.

“How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up.” Sarcastically he said, “I felt we had a special something.”

The judge asked, “Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?”

“Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.”

“Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.”

“Oh, really?”

John raised a hand to his head and closed his eyes. Etheldrea leaned against her chair and sighed. Not even eight minutes in.

“One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City. The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand.”

“Mr. Holmes!”

“Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?”

“Mr. Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess.”

Sherlock smiled a bit and looked up towards them. John looked at him sternly, although Etheldrea offered a small smile. Sherlock looked away and to Moriarty.

“Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes _without showing off_?”

Sherlock opened his mouth.

* * *

“What did I say? I said, ‘Don’t get clever.’”

“I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.”

“Etheldrea can.”

“When she wants, which most of the time is not? Besides, I’m not Etheldrea.”

Etheldrea and John were waiting as Sherlock signed some papers. After a rather impressive display in Etheldrea’s opinion, Sherlock had been led to the jail cells and the court was ended for the day. It would be picked up tomorrow with Moriarty’s defense, and then what should be an obvious arrest.

“Well?” Sherlock asked as they walked.

“Well what?”

“You two were there for the whole thing. Up in the gallery, start to finish.”

“Like you said, sat on his backside and didn’t even stir.”

“Moriarty’s not mounting any defense.”

They left the courthouse and went back to Baker Street.

“Surely they have to find him guilty.” Etheldrea said as they walked into the flat, “They caught him in the act. He’s not offering defense. There’s no way he can get out of this.”

John said, Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and yesterday, Moriarty breaks in, no one knows how or why. All we know is-“

“He ended up in custody.” Sherlock finished with a smile.

John sighed as he sat down, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“The look.”

“Look?”

“You’re doing the look again.”

“Well I can’t see it can I?”

John pointed to eh mirror and Sherlock looked confused.

“It’s my face.”

“Yes and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a ‘we both know what’s really going on here’ face.”

“Well, we do.”

Etheldrea pursed her lips, “Only a bit.”

“Well, I don’t.” John said, “Which is why I find the face so annoying.”

“If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he’d have them. If he wanted those prisoners freed, they’d be out on the streets. The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there. Somehow this is part of his scheme.”

Etheldrea asked, “And so getting arrested and going to prison is part of this?”

Sherlock glanced at her, but didn’t confirm. She frowned, worried now about what would happen tomorrow. She made the decision to stay with him tomorrow, just in case.

* * *

She got up the same time as John and Sherlock, and John left. Mrs. Hudson brought some tea up soon after and offered to make some breakfast but they both declined. She left soon after that, going down to the shop and then to a friend’s house.

Etheldrea was curled up in her dad’s chair with a book, quietly trying to read but unable to. Something was going on with her dad. He was lying on the couch, not speaking and staring up at the ceiling. This whole thing might have been getting to him she thought.

Near noon, Etheldrea heard Sherlock start to mutter to himself. She set the book down and listened.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, James Moriarty stands accused of multiple attempts of burglary. Crimes which, if he’s found guilty, will elicit a very long custodial sentence and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty . . . guilty.”

“Dad?” she asked, “Are you alright?”

His phone rang and he answered quickly. She could hear John on the other end but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sherlock didn’t say anything and hung up on him. He stood up and walked to the kitchen. He looked though the cupboards and then turned to Etheldrea.

“Run to the shops and get some biscuits. Those chocolate covered ones you like.”

“Um, why?”

He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a few pounds, “We’re out. Go, now.”

She stood up, took the money, and grabbed her coat and scarf. She didn’t want to go, she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her, but right now she had the feeling he would literally push her out the door if she didn’t go.

“Don’t lie. What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

“You’ll know when you come back. Promise.”

She nodded, “Good enough for me.”

“Take a trip to the bookstore too.”

She left Baker Street, and walked to the grocery store a few blocks down. She bought the cookies like he said, and was even going to stop at the bookstore but as she was about to enter the building, her cell phone rang.

She answered, “Hello, John.”

_“Where’s your dad? Where are you?”_

“He’s at Baker Street. He sent be to get some-“

_“They let him go. Moriarty, they let him go free. Not guilty.”_

“What, that’s impossible. How could- Dad! He’s alone there!”

She ended the call and took off running back. She thought of the timeline, since John had called Sherlock, and then now. It was more than enough time for Moriarty to get in, kill Sherlock, and get out.

The front door was unlocked; she knew she had locked it before she’d gone out. She rushed up the stairs, calling out for her dad and stopped just outside the door. Sherlock and Jim Moriarty were standing in front of each other, looking as though they were saying good bye after a cup of tea.

“Dad?” she asked hesitantly, “What’s going on?”

Jim smiled at her and walked over, “Don’t worry, just a nice chat, isn’t that right Sherlock?”

“Etheldrea, go to your room.”

“No, no, I’m leaving. It’s alright.” He grabbed her hand, “It was so nice to see you again. Your birthdays in a few months, right? We’ll have to get together again. Last year was so much fun.”

He kissed her hand, smiled at her disgust, and then left, slowly walking down the stairs. She waited until the front door closed before speaking.

“What the hell happened?” she asked.

Sherlock ignored her and reached to pick and apple with a pocket knife. He turned it around and she saw **_I O U_** carved into it. He wouldn’t say anything, the answer right there in the apple. This was only beginning.


	14. The Reichenbach Fall Part 2

Etheldrea was on high alert for a week, just waiting for the next moment Moriarty would strike. By the end of week two, she relaxed just a bit. Week three came, then a month, and then two. The press left them alone ages ago, they took small cases, and everything was just fine. Life was bustling along smoothly, and school had just ended for Etheldrea. Now her only problem was figuring out how to occupy her day. She still didn’t go on cases, and after rereading every book on her shelves twice, she was getting bored.

Maybe she should join the Yard as a researcher or something. It wasn’t the ideal job she had been waiting for, she couldn’t start training as a constable until she was eighteen, but at sixteen it was possible to join as a volunteer. She’d have something to do then, and she supposed it would look good on her resume. Besides, she could give passing comments to other officers, check records and all kinds of other stuff she normally shouldn’t.

She had been lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling as she thought this over, and was prepared to make up her mind to do it. Just a quick a quick run to the Yard, fill out a few forms, and she’d be good. Boredom gone, time consumed, and probably glaring looks from her father. Sherlock didn’t _not_ approve of her joining the Yard, but he could be very selfish at times and he often wanted Etheldrea along for all cases. The fact that she would sit on the couch as he and John were rushing to get out was at time infuriating, she could tell.

Etheldrea swung her legs over the edge of her bed, got up, and walked into the living room. She grabbed her coat and scarf, prompting to Sherlock to look up in confusion. He had been on John’s laptop.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Scotland Yard. Getting a job.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, “Boring.”

“Yes, well, it was bound to happen someday.”

“You could follow after me. What about when I’m dead? Someone needs to help the idiots at the Yard.”

“There’s only one consulting detective in this world, as you so like to remind everyone, and in no way shape or form could it ever be me.”

“Why not?”

She smiled, “You’re a tough act to follow, dad. Besides, you’re not dying for another what, sixty, seventy years? I’ll be too old to do any detective business by then.”

 “What are you saying? Am I old?”

“Are you stalling me?”

“. . . Possibly.”

There was a knock downstairs; someone was at the door, a client it sounded like.

Sherlock stood up and walked over to Etheldrea. He pulled her scarf off and tossed it over the coat hanger and then pushed her over to John’s chair. He also grabbed her coat out of her arms and tossed that over his chair.

“John’s not here, you’ll need to stay.”

“But I’m not-“

“As your father I order you to.”

“You can’t-“

Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donavan walked into the room.

“Hey Etheldrea.” Lestrade said, “Long time, no see.”

Donavan muttered, “Not long enough.”

Lestrade said quickly, “Are you helping today?”

“No I’m-“

Sherlock said, “Yes, she is.”

“-never going to finish a sentence.”

Lestrade passed a file to Sherlock, he glanced it over and then to Etheldrea. It was a kidnapping, two children. At the moment, it really didn’t seem like an exciting case. Just wait for the ransom note, that’s all you can do. Still, she didn’t like the idea of two young kids just waiting for rescue when no one was doing anything.

There was some thumping from below them, and then John came upstairs. He had gone to the shops or supposedly had gone to the shops since he had no bags. Etheldrea suspected Mycroft.

“Sherlock, there’s something weird-“ John stopped when he saw Lestrade and Donavan, “What’s going on?”

Sherlock went to his computer, “Kidnapping.”

Lestrade informed him, “Rufus Bruhl, the Ambassador to the US.”

“He’s in Washington, isn’t he?”

“Not him. His children. Max and Claudette. Aged seven and nine. They’re at St. Adate’s.”

Sally said, “Posh boarding place down in Surrey.”

“School broke up. All the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two.”

“The kids have vanished.”

He looked to Sherlock, “The Ambassadors asked for you personally.”

“The Reichenbach hero.” Sally said a bit sarcastic.

Sherlock stood up and walked to get his coat, ignoring her. He also grabbed Etheldrea’s coat and scarf, and then her arm and pushed her out the door. John rolled his eyes and Lestrade nearly smiled despite the situation.

“Isn’t it great to be working with a celebrity?”

* * *

The car stopped at the boarding school. Etheldrea tried to stay in but Sherlock pulled her out. She wanted to protest but tension was thick all around her, and setting up and argument was completely unnecessary right now.

Lestrade led them over to an elder woman with curly brown hair that looked crestfallen. She sniffled into a kerchief and had on an orange shock blanket.

Lestrade said, “Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy.”

Sherlock walked to her and they watched.

“Miss Mackenzie. You’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night! What are you, an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?” he ripped the blanket off, “Now, quickly, tell me!”

“All the door and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!” she cried.

“I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly. Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.”

He walked into the school, and John and Etheldrea looked at him with similar expressions of irritation. But, nonetheless they followed him inside while an officer helped the poor woman. The first stop was the girls room.

It was mostly empty, bed spreads gone, personal belongings away. The only girl who had been here was the one missing.

John remarked, “Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. So the other kids had all left on their holidays?”

“They were the only two sleeping on this floor.” Lestrade answered, “Absolutely no sign of a break in. The intruder must have been hidden inside someplace.”

Sherlock, who had been looking through a stage closet, dropped a lacrosse stick on the ground, and moved to a chest by the girl’s bed. The only odd thing in there was a book of fairy tales inside a parchment envelope. Etheldrea could see it had a red seal, broken open.

“Show me where the brother slept.” Sherlock ordered.

They walked to the room, searching around. There was a bitter, earthy smell in the air. Etheldrea saw a bookcase filled with spy novels. She had gone through that phase once, and to this day she still used some of the things they had taught.

Sherlock pointed to the bed, “Boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door.”

“Okay, so?”

“So, someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon.”

He walked outside the frosted door and showed them what it would look like. He came back in and started searching around.

Sally scoffed, “How could a kid do that?”

Etheldrea said, “I could. Think about it. They’re here every day and for how many years? I can recognise footsteps with my eyes closed. I could tell it was you two coming up to the flat before you even spoke.”

Sherlock ignored them, “What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out? This little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?”

“He’d leave a sign?” Lestrade asked.

Etheldrea nodded, “Well, of course. But what? What does he have within reach?”

Sherlock sniffed the air, and then picked up a sports bat and sniffed that. He got down to his knees and reached under the bed. From it, he pulled out a nearly empty bottle of yellow oil.

“Get Anderson.”

A short while later, the room and hallway surrounding it were nearly pitch black. Shutters covered windows inside the boy’s room, and black tarps covered the windows in the hall. Sherlock took a black light, flipped it on and found a message near the bed.

**_HELP US_ **

“Linseed oil.”

Anderson said, “Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.”

“Brilliant, Anderson.”

“Really?”

“Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot.”

Sherlock pointed down, “The floor.”

“He made a trail for us.”

The room had a trail of footsteps, a mix of the kidnappers and the children’s, walking out the door. The five slowly followed them, stopping when the trail ended.

“The boy was made to walk ahead of them.”

“On tiptoe?”

“Indicates anxiety. Gun held to his head. The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.”

Anderson said, “That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all.”

“You’re right, Anderson. Nothing.” Sherlock said condescendingly, “Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.”

He pulled the tarp off the window and started to examine the floor. After he laughed a bit, John sighed and kneeled next to him.

“Having fun?”

“Starting to.”

“Maybe don’t do the smiling. Kidnapped children?”

“Fine.”

“Imagine this is Etheldrea.”

“She’s standing right behind you.”

John rolled his eyes and stood up. Etheldrea watched as he pulled out his tool kit and chipped some of the wood where a footprint was and put the chips into a container. She crossed her arms and shifted on her feet.

“Exactly, what am I doing here?” she asked.

“Helping. Kidnapping. You like to help those.” He tossed her the container, “You hold these. When we get to Bart’s lab, you can help identify what’s in it.”

She bit her tongue, ready to fight against him, but he was right. She did like kidnappings, and not in the way Donavan thought her dad liked cases. She had rescued a few kids in her time, had found them and got them back home. It was a rewarding feeling, more so than finding stolen objects or solving murders, or finishing a book series.

Sherlock told Lestrade where they were going, and John and a reluctant Etheldrea followed. She kept the container in her messenger bag. A few minutes later, they were in a cab and on their way.

“How did he get past the CCTV?” John asked, “If all the doors were locked.”

“He walked in when they weren’t locked.”

“A stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.”

“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment.. When I picked Etheldrea up from school a few months ago, I walked straight in, didn’t even go to the office. There should have been an intruder drill. Everyone was preoccupied with the news.”

“You’re her parent though.”

Sherlock sighed, “Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot? He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.”

Sherlock stared out the window for the rest of the trip, seeming to be think about something. When they got to St. Bart’s, before going to the lab, he went to the cafeteria and bought some crisps. Then he led them towards the labs, and were just in time to see Molly leaving.

“Molly!” Sherlock said in greeting.

“Oh, hello. I‘m just getting out.”

Sherlock grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her round, “No, you’re not.”

“I’ve got a lunch date.”

“Cancel it, you’re having lunch with me.” He pulled out the crisps and flailed them around.

“What?”

“Need your help. It’s one of your boyfriends. We’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty.”

“It’s Moriarty?” John asked.

Etheldrea and Molly both stopped walking.

“Of course it’s Moriarty.”

Molly said, “Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.”

“Yes and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.”

He waved the crisps again, and then walked into the lab. Etheldrea rolled her eyes and followed him. Immediately, he started grabbing the equipment he needed. Etheldrea pulled out the wood chips and set them on the lab, and she started to walked out.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Sherlock said, “Start finding out what components are on the chips.”

“I’m not going to get myself involved in anything that has to do with Moriarty.”

“If you don’t, how will you know if we’re safe? What if this turns out to be something like those bombings?”

“The Great Game? You mean the case that you barely let me take part in because you thought it would be too dangerous for me?”

“We are a team, remember?”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t act like it sometimes.”

“You can take care of yourself, I know you can. Start with identifying any metals.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. That’s an order. If you’re not going to think of this as a case, think of it as a chore. Now, start analyzing.”

Etheldrea had half a mind to turn around and leave, but she didn’t. Along with Molly, they worked on identifying the components. Chalk was one, and then asphalt. Traces of vegetation were found, and then brick dust. There was a fifth element that no one could identify just yet, but it did have some glycerol molecules in it.

Eventually, Etheldrea drifted over to John and helped him sort through the cases pictures. There wasn’t much that looked out of order, nothing new to see. She could only just hear Molly and Sherlock talking, but she didn’t pay attention. Eventually, John found what he thought was an important photo. It was the fairytale book they had found.

He called, “Sherlock.”

“Hmm?”

“This envelope that was in her trunk. There’s another one.”

“What?”

John walked to his jacket and pulled it out, “On our doorstep. Found it today. Yes, and look at that.”

Etheldrea looked it over, and then He walked over and showed it to Sherlock.

“Look at that. Exactly the same seal.”

Sherlock reached inside and pulled out the contents, “Breadcrumbs.”

“Uh-huh. It was there when I got back.”

“A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales. Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs.”

“That’s _Hansel and Gretel_. What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?”

“The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me ‘All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain.’

He put the envelope down and looked into the microscope.

Etheldrea said, “That’s why you said it was Moriarty, the fairytale book. I just thought you were grabbing straws.”

“I never do that.”

“Oh, please.”

He ignored her, “The fifth substance, it’s part of the tale. The witch’s house.”

“What?” John asked.

Sherlock looked up at them, “The glycerol molecule. PGPR!”

“What’s that?”

Sherlock got to his feet and walked away, “It’s used in making chocolate.”

As they made their way to a cab, Etheldrea received a text.

**422215 25322321224241 3436233223154141 121542421536**

**4511421322 334342. 422215 143611213332 2341 313331233221.**

**Xx JM**


	15. The Reichenbach Fall Part 3

A moment later another text appeared, **36**

Etheldrea didn’t recognize the code. There was no visible cipher at the moment, and thirty six was no help as to what she had to do to solve it. The codes that had shown up on her dad’s blog over a year ago had at least some useful clue but she had none. It was like he didn’t want her to solve, at least not yet. So, she pocketed her phone and went with her dad and John back to Scotland Yard.

Lestrade met up with them almost immediately and handed them a sheet of paper. The message in all capital letters said “Hurry up they’re dying!”

“This fax arrived an hour ago. What have you got for us?”

“We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect.” Sherlock handed him a list of the components form the lab.

“Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation- What the hell is this? Chocolate?”

“I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.”

Etheldrea walked over to an unused computer and pulled up a search bar. She started typing in locations, trying to find all information on sweet factories, and matching them up. There were far too many results, she needed something more specific, and actual name and not just a substance.

“We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?”

“No, no, no, too general. Need something more specific, chalk, chalky clay. That’s a far thinner band of geology.”

“Brick dust.”

“Building site. Bricks from the 1950s.”

“There’s thousands of building sites in London!”

“I’ve got people out looking.”

“So have I!”

“Homeless network. Faster than the police.” He smirked, “Far more relaxed about taking bribes.”

At that moment, his phone began ringing with an on pour of texts, one after the other. One message, a photo of purple flowers, caught his attention. He should it to John and Etheldrea. She grimaced when she saw the type it was, all to familiar with the meaning of them.

“Rhododendron ponticum. It matches.”

She turned back to the computer, and put it in. There were only a few places around London that had those flowers, even few that would be near a disused sweet factory or even factories at all. She looked through images, trying to spot the one that was their target. She pulled up a map and looked at it, trying to find abandoned roads, or maybe places she had been to in the past. Urban exploring was a small hobby of hers.

She zoomed in the map, looking over roof tops and trying to find anything that looked over grown or broken. Search the top right corner. Nothing. Move down, nothing. To the left, still nothing. Lower still, no-

At the same time as her dad, they said, “Addlestone.”

“What?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock told him, “There’s a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything.”

He strode out of the room. Etheldrea jumped out of the chair and raced after him. Lestrade called his team to go. Within moments, dozens of people were rushing out of the building and into cars. Within in minutes that seemed to long, they were at the factories.

Everyone was spitting into groups, going into all the surrounding factories. Etheldrea followed behind her dad that went into one building. Donavan was calling out orders; everyone was spreading throughout the building. She ran down an aisle of broken machinery, looking down each intersection for a sign of the children.

Far to her left, she heard her dad call out, “They’re still here.”

She kept looking, finding along the way a pile of metallic wrappers on the ground. She picked one up and looked it over.

“Mercury.” Sherlock called out, “The papers, they’re painted with mercury.”

Etheldrea quickly dropped the wrapper she held and wiped her fingers on her pants. She started to walk over to her dad, and then Donavan shouted she had found them. All the officers around ran in that direction. A short while later, an ambulance was bringing the boy and girl to the hospital. The boy was unconscious, but the girl was still awake. It wouldn’t be until a while later that they could talk to her.

Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Donavan and she formed a small group outside. There were still officers investigating the area, but almost everyone in the group was sure the kidnapper was gone. Almost everyone.

Etheldrea didn’t particularly like Sergeant Donavan, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a small amount of respect for her. She did her job, and she was pretty good at it. However Etheldrea saw something in her eyes, almost like doubt, when she looked at Sherlock. That little look started to worry her.

“As soon as we’re finished here, we’re going back to the Yard.” Lestrade told them, “It’ll be a while yet until we can talk to Claudette, but I’m sure-“

He cut off when there was a large crash from inside one of the buildings. Lestrade sighed and went to go see the problem; Donavan walked over to a car and talked with an officer.

Etheldrea said, “Well, we’ve found the kids. I just go grab a cab. I’ll see you later.”

She started to walk away but Sherlock grabbed her arm, “Nonsense. You’ll stay where I can see you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words.”

She rolled her eyes but stayed put. A moment later, Lestrade was calling for John. An officer had been hit by a falling pipe, nothing too serious but a quick look over wouldn’t hurt. Sherlock followed him, and Etheldrea watched them disappear into the building. She sighed, and waited and watched people going about. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement near one of the empty buildings.

She turned towards it and looked again, thinking maybe it was a trick of the eye. But there it was, a person’s silhouette, a bit hazy, passed by a window. There shouldn’t have been anyone in that building. She looked behind her, seeing Donavan still talking to an officer and no one else around was paying attention.

It could hurt to check it out. The probability of being an officer was incredibly high. She walked towards the building, and poked her head in the doorway. It was as dark as the others, but with enough natural light to see her way around. There were foot prints on the ground, recently disturbed, coming from the, and going to the right. She followed them, turning left and right when needed, and abruptly stopped when she was in the middle of the room.

They were luring her in.

She turned to go back, but there was a figure in her path. It may as well have been a shadow; all features were hidden in the dark. She took a step back, and another. The person stepped towards her, and then again. She was directly next to an intersection, and she ran. The man ran after her, and he was very fast.

She turned a corner and then another, trying to zigzag her way back out. Her purser was right behind her, as if he was anticipating her movements. She rounded another corner, ran forward and turned another. Then, her foot caught on a lever. She flew to the ground and landed hard. Then, the man was on top of her, pulling her off the ground and dragging her back. A hand clamped around her mouth and an arm held back hers. She couldn’t call for help, but she wasn’t entirely helpless.

Etheldrea kicked back on his shin which loosened the hand around her mouth. She bit down on the hand, gloved she saw now, and he ripped it away. She bent forward and swung her body back, throwing the both of them a bit of balance, but loosening his hold on her arms. The grip was still tight so she could try ripping herself away. Instead, she forced him backwards, hitting some machinery.

He almost let go entirely, but one hand still held her right arm. She screamed as loud as she could, alerting the others outside, and hopefully breaking the man’s ear drums. A quick stomp on the man’s ankle grained her a satisfying crack and set her free.

Etheldrea made it outside and kept running until she was met with Donavan, and couple other officers. She told them there was someone in the building, breathing a bit too hard as she did. They rushed in to check, and then John and Lestrade were with her.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he looked her over, “What happened?”

“Fine, just fine. I saw someone . . . in that factory there.” She pointed, “Went to check it out . . . got attacked. Fought back. . . May have broken his ankle.”

“Good girl.” Lestrade said as Donavan came back.

“He’s gone, no one was in there.” She said.

Lestrade asked Etheldrea “Can you describe him?”

“Tall, almost or about six feet. . . . Thin but strong. I couldn’t make out . . . any clear details.”

“Can you try?”

Her breathing starting to calm, “He had on gloves, leather. I didn’t pay attention to how he was dressed, but it didn’t matter much it was too dark. His hair was messy, not long but not short either, almost curly or wavy.”

“What about his face?”

“It was too dark, I couldn’t see him. He may as well have been a shadow.”

John said, “It almost sounds like you’re talking about-“

Sherlock limped over to them, interrupting.

“What happened to _you_?” John asked.

“I tripped. It’ll be fine after a while. Etheldrea, why did he go after you?”

“How should I know?” she asked, “He never said a word, barely made any noise. He didn’t even shout when I hurt him; he was trying very hard to keep his identity hidden.”

Donavan watched them, and looked like she wanted to ask something but she turned around and walked away.

* * *

Back at the Yard, they couldn’t do much but wait around until it was time. Etheldrea did have to explain what had happened to a couple other officers, but that was as good as it got for exciting. It was almost dark by the time Claudette was ready to speak. Donavan and Lestrade went in first. Sherlock paced the floor while John and Etheldrea sat down and talked now and then. No one had found any trace of the man who had attacked her, but they did believe it to be the kidnapper.

“How long have we been here?” Etheldrea asked as she watched the clock tick.

“Since six thirty-six.” Sherlock answered, still pacing.

“Exactly, really? God, how long does it take for a seven year old to describe a kidnapping?”

John scolded, “She’s just had the fright of her life, and her brother is in the hospital.”

“All the more reason to hurry it up. It’s been nearly two hours, and-“

She stopped talking and sat up straight in her chair. John looked at her confused, and Sherlock paused his pacing to watch her.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked.

She stood up, “Yeah, just need to use the loo.”

Of course neither men believed her, but they couldn’t exactly follow her. Inside, she walked over to the sink counter and pulled out her small notepad and a pen. She created a grid that was six by six and labeled them as such. Then in the boxes she wrote down the alphabet, and to finish the thirty six squares, the numbers zero through nine also.

Then, she pulled out her phone and started decoding it. Four by two was T, the next H, and then E. She scratched the letters down one by one, mumbling them to herself as she did so. It wasn’t a fast task, and it took a few minutes to decode everything, but when she did she found the threat.

_The knights princess better watch out. The dragon is coming._

Etheldrea had been warned hours ago, precisely an hour before everything. But, the kidnapper had failed with her. She put the pad and pen away and then deleted the message on her phone. Calmly, she walked out and went back to her dad and John. Before they could ask her anything, Lestrade and Donavan conveniently came out.

Donavan said sarcastically, “Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn.”

Lestrade ignored her and told Sherlock, “Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to-“

Sherlock deadpanned, “Not be myself.”

“Yeah. Might be helpful.”

Sherlock turned to John and Etheldrea, and struggled not to roll his eyes. He turned down his coat collar and then walked into the room.

He began, “Claudette, I-“

The young girl started to scream, pointed at Sherlock and cowering into the liaison officer that was with her.

In the same reassuring tone he would use to calm Etheldrea, he said, “No-no, I know it’s been hard for you. Claudette, listen to me-“

Having enough, Lestrade yanked him by the arm and shoved him, “Out. Get out!”

The door closed and after a while, Claudette stopped screaming. Sherlock was standing in front of the windows, watching but not really seeing what was going on through the blinds. Lestrade was talking with John and Sally while Etheldrea watched her dad.

“Makes no sense.” John said.

Lestrade said, “The kid’s traumatized. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.”

“What’s she said?”

Sally said, “Hasn’t uttered another syllable.”

“And the boy?”

Lestrade answered, “No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.”

Etheldrea almost missed it when all the lights in the building across form them turned on. But the little flicker she saw distracted her and she walked up to see. She gave a quiet gasp when she saw spray painted in red paint, at least she hoped it was spray paint, I O U. Then, as quickly as they turned on, the lights disappeared and the message vanished into the dark.

Quietly to Sherlock she asked, “Did you see it?”

He only nodded and then put a finger to his lips. The others were oblivious.

 “Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.” Lestrade said, trying to ease the tension, “I remember Etheldrea did once when she was a kid, of course she didn’t notice it was you covered in mud.”

No one said anything and he sighed to John and Sally, “Come on.”

John and he left, Sally waited for a bit. Etheldrea started to follow and waited at the door for her dad.

Donavan said before he left, “Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.”

“Thank you.” He replied.

“Unbelievable.” She said pointedly.

Sherlock hesitate for a moment, and Etheldrea took a step towards Donavan.

“Are you implying something?” she asked.

Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder, “Drea, don’t.”

Donavan didn’t say anything, and Etheldrea huffed but turned and walked away. They met John outside and he hailed a cab. Neither said much. Sherlock looked off into space while Etheldrea looked pissed.

“You okay?” he asked them.

“Thinking.” Sherlock replied.

Etheldrea said, “Fine.”

The cab pulled up and Etheldrea got in, then Sherlock. He didn’t let John in though.

“This is our cab. You get the next one.”

“Why?”

“You might talk.” He shut the door and said to Etheldrea, “Don’t talk.”

She nodded and looked out the window, and then she had a thought and reached into her bag. She pulled out her notepad, opened it to the message and gave it to her dad. She didn’t say anything, just let him figure it out for himself. Sherlock sighed and gave it back to her, understanding right away.

Sherlock sat back and went into deep thought. Etheldrea watched as the city went by. After a short while, the TV in front of Sherlock’s seat turned on and played a jewelry ad.

“Can you turn this off, please?” Sherlock asked.

The driver didn’t respond and the ad continued.

A bit more angrily, he asked, “Can you turn this off-“”

The screen frizzed and flashed an image of someone. And then again, and then it was replaced with Jim Moriarty sitting in front of a cartoony pale blue sky and clouds.

In a voice reserved for kids, he said, _“Hello. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-A-Lot._ _Sir Boast-A-Lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain.”_

The sky in the background turned dark and stormy. There was a tiny bit of horror growing in Etheldrea. Didn’t something like this happen over a year ago? Cabs nowadays could not only hold killers but the cars themselves could also be deadly.

_“And soon they began to wonder, are Sir Boast-A-Lot’s stories even true? Oh no. So one of the knights wen to King Arthur and said, ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-A-Lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’ And then even the King began to wonder. But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-A-Lot’s problem. No. That wasn’t the final problem. The end”_

The screen fritz and then cut back to the ad. Sherlock responded violently, shouting for the cab to stop. When it did, both he and Etheldrea got out, and Sherlock rushed to the driver’s window.

“What was that?”

Etheldrea, on the sidewalk, saw the driver turn his head and reveal that it was Moriarty himself. He smiled at the both of them.

“No charge. _Catch_ you later, Etheldrea.”

Etheldrea didn’t move as the cab peeled away but Sherlock chased after it. It was too fast and he stopped in the middle of the road. She saw the car coming but he didn’t as his back was turned.

“Dad! Move!”

Someone else yelled, “Look out!”

A man came out of nowhere and pulled Sherlock away. He didn’t completely understand what had just happened and almost attacked the man, but then the car went past and he realized. Etheldrea ran over.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said.

They shook hands, and then suddenly bullets tore through the man and he slumped to the ground. Etheldrea screamed. Sherlock pushed her behind him and turned around, looking for the source of the shots. There were none.

A cab pulled up and John rushed out, calling their names. He surveyed the scene and called an ambulance. Etheldrea was still quiet, in shock about everything that had just happened. This was exactly why she stopped going on cases. She couldn’t stand seeing people get hurt all the time, and what good was she doing? All she did was stand there.

A while later, after the body was carted away, John turned to Sherlock who was still thinking.

John said, “That is him. It’s him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He’s a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us.”

Sherlock said, “He died because I shook his hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“He saved my life but he couldn’t touch me. Why?”


	16. The Reichenbach Fall Part 3

Etheldrea followed her dad and John up the stairs to the flat. After the day they had just had, she was ready to lie down and relax, but something told her she wouldn’t be doing that for a while. It was obvious something was coming; why else was Moriarty showing up?

In one fluid motion, Sherlock went from the door to the computer, and took his scarf and coat off in the process. Etheldrea disrobed her coat and scarf also and went to pace behind him. She barely had an idea what was going on, and everything that should make sense was all jumble up into bits and pieces. Sorting them was like putting together a million piece puzzle.

Sherlock said, “Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They haven’t come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive. I’ve got something that all of them want. But if one of them approaches me . . .”

“The others kill him before he can get it.” John replied.

“All of the attention is focused on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.”

Etheldrea stopped and looked at him, “But what is it that you have? If you had something worth value, why wouldn’t they just break in and steal it?”

Sherlock swiped a finger along the table, “We have to ask about the dusting.”

A minute later, Mrs. Hudson, who was just getting ready for bed, was brought up and asked about her unscheduled up keeping. Despite not being their house keeper, she was very good at it.

As he looked around the room, Sherlock asked, “Precise details. In the last week, what’s been cleaned?”

Mrs. Hudson answered, “Well, Tuesday I did your lino-“

“No, in here, this room. This is where we’ll find it. Any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust.” With a wave of his gingers he said, “Dust is eloquent.”

“What’s he on about?”

John shook his head, and then heard someone at the door and went to answer. Sherlock was checking every corner of the room, climbing over furniture and nearly toppling things over. Etheldrea walked near him, taking books he took out and putting them back.

“Having an adventure there?” she asked, “How do you know it even here? Why not anywhere else?”

“Out of all the rooms in the flat, where are we the most? Here. Camera’s. We’re being watched.”

“What?” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, “Cameras? Here? I’m in my nightie!”

Mrs. Hudson left after hearing the doorbell while the two Holmes ignored it. Etheldrea knew who it was, he rang the doorbell like that every time there was an emergency, but it was different this time. How so, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Sherlock climbed over his chair and looked at the right bookshelf. Immediately, he noticed one of the big green encyclopedias was pulled forward more than it should have. He pushed it back and a small circular camera was revealed in the corner. He grabbed it and carefully pulled it out.

At the same time, John was bringing Lestrade up.

“No, Inspector.” Sherlock said, not looking at them.

“What?”

“The answer is no.”

“You haven’t heard the question.”

“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.”

Lestrade sighed, “Sherlock-“

“The scream? Etheldrea’s description?”

“Yeah, both.”

“Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Oh, Moriarty’s smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you got to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home . . .”

He poked Lestrade’s forehead, “There.”

He turned and went back to his computer.

Etheldrea asked heatedly, “You do see how ridiculous this is, right? Why would he? What does he gain form kidnapped children? What does he gain from attempting to kidnap me?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But the evidence-“

“The evidence is hardly enough for questioning! In case you haven’t noticed, anyone could put on a wig. Donovan has always hated our involvement; she’s just looking for a scapegoat!”

Sherlock warned, “Etheldrea.”

She had been shouting, she realized and quickly apologized.

Lestrade asked Sherlock, “Will you come?”

“One photograph, that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch. It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.”

Lestrade took defeat and left. John walked to the window and watched the outside. Etheldrea stood behind Sherlock, gripping the back of the chair tightly and watched as he hooked up the camera. She was scared, beyond scared even. Never before had a case hit so close to home.

“He’ll be deciding.” Sherlock said.

“Deciding?”

“Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.”

“You think?”

“Standard procedure.”

Etheldrea said, “I won’t let them. They’re wrong.”

“Then you’ll get arrested as well.”

John said, “Should have gone with him. People will think-“

“I don’t care what people think.”

“You’d care if they thought you were stupid or wring.”

“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.”

John yelled, “Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re-“

They both looked at each other, a large pause creating a slight misunderstanding for Sherlock.

“That I am what?”

“A fraud.”

“You’re worried they’re right.”

“What?”

“You’re worried they’re right about me?”

“No.”

“That’s why you’re so upset, you can’t even entertain the possibly that they might be right, you’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.”

“No I’m not.”

“Moriarty is playing with your mind too.” He slammed his hands on the table, “Can’t you _SEE_ what’s going on?”

John wasn’t buying it, “No, I know you’re for real.”

“A hundred percent?”

“Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.”

Sherlock almost smiled. He turned around to Etheldrea and nodded towards the doors.

“Go wait in your room; I want to talk to you.”

She did as he said and paced around her room. When Sherlock came in, he motioned to the bed and they sat down.

“If this is about Lestrade, I did apologize, and I was sorry. I was just-“

“I know. This isn’t about that. Lestrade and his men will be back soon, and we both know what’s going to happen.”

She shook her head, “No, I won’t let them.”

“You have to.”

“But you’re innocent. You wouldn’t do any of that. You wouldn’t kidnap children, or me. They can’t arrest an innocent man.”

Sherlock sighed, “Listen, I have a plan. But in order for it to work, I need you to cooperate and listen to every word I say.”

She took a breath and nodded, “Alright. Whatever you need.”

“I can’t tell you everything. It’s essential that you know as little as possible until the time is right. A need to know basis, got it?”

She nodded.

“When they get here, you won’t interfere and when they take me away, you will stay here with John and Mrs. Hudson. I’ll find a way to let you know your next step. Understand?”

“But-“

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, but-“

“Etheldrea, everything will be alright. You’ll see me soon than you think.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He stood up and she followed him back out to the living room. She sat on the sofa while he went to his chair. Meanwhile, John was finishing up a phone call.

“So, I’ve still got some friends on the force.” He told them, “It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now. Queuing up to slap on the handcuffs, every single officer you ever made feel like a tit. Which is a lot of people.”

Etheldrea said, “Which is basically seven-eighths of the Yard. Dad, are you sure-“

He nodded, “Remember what I said.”

Mrs. Hudson interrupted them, “Yoo hoo! Oh, sorry, am I interrupting? Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked perishable. I had to sign for it.”

She gave John the packaged, an old parchment like material with a red wax seal. Sherlock stood up and looked at it. The three of them looked at it alarmed while Mrs. Hudson went on.

“Funny name. German. Like the fairy tales.”

John opened it and pulled out a charred gingerbread man.

“Burnt to a crisp.” Sherlock said.

“What does it mean?” John asked.

For a minute now, sirens had been wailing in the distance but only now did the sound really register in Etheldrea’s ears. They were right outside, tons of officers and more than likely reporters. She stood up and walked over to Sherlock while John and Mrs. Hudson went to answer the doorbells. Not that they really needed to because the Inspector and officers seemed to have just let themselves inside.

“Dad-“

“Italy. Remember Italy.”

She sighed, “Vencice, Florence, Rome.”

Ehteldrea then went to stand in the kitchen arch; waiting for what she hoped was the beginning of the end. John entered the room first, followed by Lestrade, and then Donovan, and then many other officers.

Sherlock had put on his coat and scarf and was waiting patiently in the middle of the room for Lestrade. He cooperated well, even held his hands out didn’t struggle in the slightest.

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction, kidnapping, and attempted kidnaping.” Lestrade said rather reluctantly.

Etheldrea kept her teeth clamped and her lips thinned, trying her hardest not to lash out a the idiots here. She tried thinking of Italy, and it helped calm her down a bit but not much. All that was keeping her in place was John standing ahead of her, scolding Lestrade.

“He’s not resisting!” John said.

“It’s alright John.” Sherlock said.

“No it’s not. This is ridiculous.”

Lestrade ignored him, “Get him downstairs, now.”

“Look after her, John.” Sherlock said before they jerked him away.

“Don’t try to interfere or I shall arrest you, too.” Lestrade said, pointing at John and Etheldrea.

Most of the officers left but Donovan stuck around, a smug smile on her face.

“You done?” John asked.

“Oh, I said it. First time we met.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line. Now, ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them? I told you. Watch her, she’s next.” She pointed to Etheldrea.

Etheldrea stepped forward, and Donovan involuntarily stepped back.

“Are you looking for something? Because if you are, you’ll need another warrant. Otherwise, you got what you came for. You have no more right to be here, and you have no right to say those things in front of me, in my own house.” She pointed behind her, “Now get out. There’s the door. Please, let it hit you on the way out!”

She turned back to stand by John. A short but round man, the Chief Superintendent she would later find out, entered the room, observing the surroundings.

“Donovan, that’s our man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types.”

John had been staring hard at the man, and been keeping a hand on Etheldrea. She had been shaking in anger and this man was about to send her out of control, but John beat her to it. In one movement, he had punched the man and then stepped back and waited for his arrest. Donovan, honestly didn’t look too surprised, and went to do so.

Mrs. Hudson who had been silent throughout the whole thing, other than chiding people on manners, now burst into tears. Etheldrea went and comforted her, giving her a hug and rubbing her back. She turned her head and glared at the man as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“How dare you! You’ve given the poor woman the fright of her life. Get out before you make things worse than they are!”

The man sputtered, having a loss for words and made no attempt to move.

“I said get out! And don’t get any blood on the rug, it’s a terrible mess to clean out.”

Before an officer brought him a way, John muttered a quick apology to the girls, and then he was gone along with the man. Mrs. Hudson stopped crying and wiped away the tears, faked to get him to leave.

Etheldrea smiled, “Thank you Mrs. H.”

“Of course dear. Don’t you worry; Sherlock will sort everything out soon. Until then, why don’t you come down with me for the rest of the night? We’ll have some hot coco and biscuits. I’ll even make peppermint, just the way you like.”

“That’s very kind, I’ll meet you down there in a moment, I have to talk to Inspector Lestrade first.”

She walked down the stairs, and saw Donovan at the door. For just a moment, the fact that she could punch her flitted across her mind. It also seemed the thought flitted through Donovan.

She said, “Don’t even think about it Holmes.”

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and walked past her. She paused, seeing both her dad and John pushed up against the car angered her. They were in the right, everyone else was in the wrong, but she couldn’t prove it. So, she continued on to Lestrade.

“I need to talk to you.” She said.

“Drea, I’m sorry. Now’s not really-“

“I can prove it wasn’t him. Dad, I mean. John did give the man a good punch but he deserved it, but the kidnappings, I can prove it. Just tell me what I need to do. I can find the evidence, I’m sure of it.”

“Please Etheldrea, it’s just some questions. He might even be back home tomorrow. But until then-“

They stopped as everywhere around them, officers doubled over in pain as high pitched feedback screamed through their devices. Etheldrea turned in time to see her dad pointing a gun around.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?”

No one moved and he fired two shots into the air.

“Now would be good!”

“Do as he says!” Lestrade shouted.

Everyone slowly got down, although Lestrade had to pull Etheldrea down at first and he kept a firm grip on her wrist.

“Don’t try anything stupid.” He whispered to her.

John stammered, “Just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea, I’m just, uh, you know-“

“My hostage.”

The two were backing away, Sherlock aiming the gun at John’s head. As soon as they hit the street corner across the way, they ran. Everyone stood up and started getting into action. Etheldrea was staring at where they had disappeared to, and then she felt hands on her shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.” Lestrade commanded, “You turn around and go back inside, right now.”

Etheldrea whipped around to face him, “I can prove. Tell me what I need, and I can prove it. Alibies, witnesses, phone calls, all of it.”

“Etheldrea-“

“Please, Lestrade. I have to try.”

He sighed, and then pulled out a notebook and a pen form his coat. He wrote on it and then gave the paper to her.

“My office, tomorrow morning at ten. After everything that’s happened, they might not let you just stroll in anymore. Show them this if you have to.”

“Thank you Inspector.”

“Now get inside and stay there, alright? I don’t want to have to be worrying over you too.”

She did as he said, giving once last glance towards the street corner, and then went immediately to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. As promised, peppermint scent filled the flat. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table while Mrs. Hudson cooked.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you think dad did it?” she asked quietly.

The old woman chuckled, “Of course not. It’s ridiculous. Why would he harm those poor kids? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but he is a bit kinder with kids than you’d think. It’s only when they act out that he’s not much of a fan. Especially after having you.”

“Especially after me?”

“He loves you so much Drea dear, you know that.”

“It’s why we never really say it. We know it, so we don’t have to reaffirm it.”

“Exactly. You two have quite the odd relationship, but it works so well. And especially after that nasty incident in oh-three-“

Etheldrea groaned, “We never mention that, ever.”

“I know, sorry. But it still shows. It’s just another little hiccup and it’ll be over before we know it. Then we can all breathe easier again.”

Etheldrea nodded in agreement and then rested her head on her arms. After the coco was drunk, and the biscuits eaten, Mrs. Hudson turned in for the night and Etheldrea was going to do the same. She was about to change into her nightwear when she heard her phone go off. The caller was unknown, and she answered hesitantly.

“Hello?”

_“It’s John. I need your help. Think you can get me into your Uncle’s office?”_

She smirked, “Of course. Meet me there. What’s up?”

_“I’ll explain when you get here, but, it’s not good.”_


	17. The Reichenbach Fall Part 5

By the time Etheldrea arrived at The Diogenes Club, it was nearly midnight. The club, though actually a government office building of sorts, was still lit up. People shuffled inside, and a few on their break were sleeping. She met John outside and he handed her a newspaper and a file.

She flipped and browsed through all the writing, her surprise slowly turning into anger as she read. Her dad’s life story was printed out, and Moriarty had the backup to prove it. However, everything here was only known by few people. His parents, her, and someone else very close.

“This is why we’re here.” She said, “Because he- Mycroft, he-. Come on. We’ll wait in his office.”

She led him in, past the people and to a desk. From her wallet, she pulled out an ID card, given to her by Mycroft so she’d stop breaking in, and the secretary pointed her towards the doors. Etheldrea led John in and he sat down in a chair while she waited at his desk and played with the pendant around her neck. She didn’t bother to close the door, and they waited only a few minutes for Mycroft to return.

Etheldrea glared, never taking her ice cold eyes off him and crossed her arms. He didn’t look surprised to see her, already knowing she’d be there from his lackeys no doubt. Though he was surprised to see John.

“She has really done her homework, Miss Riley.” John said, looking through the files once more, “Things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.”

Etheldrea added, “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Mycroft closed the door, refusing to look at her, and sat down across from John.

John said, “Have you see your brother’s address book lately. There’s three names, yours, Etheldrea’s, and mine. And Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from us.”

“John-“

“So how does it work, then? Your relationship? You go out for a coffee now and then, eh? You and Jim?” John put the papers down, “Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.”

Mycroft sighed, “I never intent- I never dreamt-“

“This, see, this is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it? ‘Watch his back because I’ve made a mistake.’” He put the papers down and cleared his throat, “How did you meet him?”

“People like him; we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket, the ultimate weapon. A key code. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.”

“And you abducted him. To try and find the key code.”

“Hardly abducted. He waltzed right in here the day Etheldrea was locked in the freezer, along with a few of the men I trusted to protect her. We interrogated him for weeks.”

“And?”

“He wouldn’t play along. He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up . . . _I_ could get him to talk. Just a little. But . . .”

“In return, you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie. Sherlock’s a fraud. But people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.”

John stood up and went to the door. Etheldrea moved from where she had been quietly waiting, almost deadly silent as she listened. She walked over to where John had been sitting and stood in front of her Uncle.

“Etheldrea-“ Mycroft began, still refusing to meet her eyes.

“Don’t.  You don’t say a single word. My dad is on the run because of this mad man, and I just know that this is coming to a close soon enough. This is like a crazy chose your own adventure and unfortunately, I don’t know the ending but you may have just contributed to the bad one!”

“Ethel-“

“Did you, any point, even _think_ about the repercussions? Or did you just waltz right into his cell and think nothing would come of it? Are you so daft as to not see that he was playing you? Right from the moment he walked in here, walked into our lives, he has been playing a game and now he’s sent you back to start. Hell, he’s nearly taken you out of the game!”

“Eth-“

“We. Are. Your. Family. Does that mean anything to you? Of course not. As long as you continue to keep the world running, we are nothing to you. I’ve always known I was a thorn in your side, the ball to your chain, but my dad? Your own brother? You were raised together and you have been watching him ever since. How could you do this? How could you stoop so low? I believed in- I trusted you! And so did he.

“Etheldrea, I’m sorry.” He didn’t look at her, though the apology did sound real.

“Oh please.” John scoffed behind them.

She took a breath and shook her head, “You fix this, Mycroft Holmes. You fix this, and then you apologize. Until then, I don’t want to see you or hear from you. Any attempts will result me disabling all your usual ways of ‘checking up’ on me.”

 Mycroft said again, “I am sorry. Tell him, would you?”

Etheldrea turned on her heel and left the room, John followed after, leaving the door open. Mycroft watched them go, a heavy sigh on his lips. He wasn’t Uncle Mycroft anymore, and that . . . that struck a chord. Mycroft Holmes, she had called him. In Etheldrea’s way, to call anyone in her family by full name was practically disownment.

* * *

John and Etheldrea were going to go back to Baker Street, but Sherlock sent John a text with his location. Quickly, they hurried to St. Bart’s and were able to get in with no problem. In the labs, Sherlock was sitting on the ground bouncing a stress ball against the cabinets.

“Got your message.” John said as he walked in.

Sherlock said, “The computer code is the key to this. If we find it, we can use it; beat Moriarty at his own game.”

“What do you mean use it?”

“He’s used it to create a false identity. So we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.”

Etheldrea nodded and said, “Then we can bring back Jim Moriarty.”

Sherlock looked at her, like he had just noticed she was there. Which was actually possible since she was behind a table, blocked from his peripheral vision. He stood up and walked over to her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, “You were supposed to stay at Baker Street.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But John called me, and we went to see your brother. Dad, he’s . . . Mycroft . . . you should know he’s the one who-“

“I know. Not very hard to deduce. ‘Mycroft’?”

“He’s a git. Now, Moriarty. We can fix this right?”

Sherlock looked as though he was going to say something else but then he shook his head, turned and put his hands on the table.

“Somewhere in two two one B, somewhere on the day of the verdict- he left it hidden.”

John did the same as he, “What did he touch?”

“An apple, and he kissed Etheldrea’s hand.”

She grimaced, “Which was severely gross, might I add.”

John asked, “Did he write anything down?”

“No.”

Etheldrea paced, thinking of anything that seemed out of the ordinary. They had searched the flat beforehand, but nothing was amiss. The only thing was that camera, and that wasn’t Moriarty, it had been one of the assassins.

John and Sherlock drummed their fingers on the table, and then Sherlock had a realization. Neither John nor Etheldrea noticed as he tapped out a beat. Then turned to his cell phone and sent a message, hoping the two still hadn’t noticed. He turned back and resumed to thinking about his next move.

After an hour, both John and Etheldrea were nodding off at the table, John falling faster than she. When he was snoring, Sherlock moved over and pulled Ehteldrea shoulders back so that she was upright. She glared at him with tired eyes.

He said quietly, “Go back to Baker Street. Get some sleep.”

“But I want to help.” She said sleepily.

“You can’t until you’ve had some sleep.”

“Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not-“

“Yes you are. You always want me on the cases, well, not when Moriarty started blowing things up but after that I always came along. And then when I stopped, you still wanted to bring me along, and when he broke into all those places and then the kids. But now you don’t. I can help, just tell me what you need.”

“I don’t need you yet, that’s the problem. And I didn’t want you near the bombing case because I thought you would be safer. I didn’t know what we were dealing with, not to the full extent. Not until he took you form where you should have been safe. But he’s not looking to go after you, only me.”

“Then let me help.”

“Why did you go talk to Lestrade?”

“Sorry?”

“After John and I were arrested, you came out to talk to Lestrade. Why?”

“I wanted to ask him if there was anything I could do to prove you innocent. I thought I could- I have a meeting with him in the morning to talk about it, I just remembered.”

“Get to Baker Street, get some sleep, and do that. That’s how you can help.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I most certainly can’t do it, and John will probably mess it up somehow. You’re perfect for the job.”

She smiled, “Alright. I’ll go, but as soon as I’m done, I’m coming back here, got it?”

“I thought you weren’t doing cases anymore.”

“He’s already proven I’m, and everyone around me counts as a target. I stopped going on cases because I didn’t want anyone else to get the same idea. Distance daughter, distance enemies.” She smiled sadly.

Sherlock smiled sadly also, “Do you ever miss when it was just us? Would you ever want to do that again?”

She glanced back towards the sleeping John, “Honestly, no. Having him around made things so much better. Easier. I like that it’s the three of us. I mean, I did like when it was us, of course I did Dad. But, John, he makes us better. Why do you ask? Do you want John to move out?”

Sherlock shook his head, “No. Just . . . wondering if you missed it. Now. Go. Get. Some. Sleep.”

He gently pushed her off her seat and towards the door. He watched her go, waited until it was about the time she would be back at Baker Street, and then pulled out his phone and sent another text. Then, he sat down and waited until his friend was to be awoken by a phone call.

* * *

Etheldrea slept until eight that morning. After she woke, dressed and prepared everything she needed, she went downstairs to visits Mrs. Hudson. She filled her in on some things, such as her father and John’s conditions, and what she planned on doing soon enough. Time was going by so slow, and she wanted nothing more than to get to the Yard.

The landlady expressed her relief at the news, and then made breakfast for the both of them, though Etheldrea didn’t eat more than a couple bites. With another hour to spare, Etheldrea helped with the dishes. It helped the time go by just a bit and by the time they were done, she could go. It was perfect all the way around.

Mrs. Hudson was welcoming in a repairman, here to fix some of the frames and shelves above the stairs. They had been going a bit lopsided. Etheldrea said she could have had Sherlock help when everything was over, but Mrs. Hudson hadn’t wanted to bother him. So Etheldrea gave her a hug, and then she was off, a taxi bringing her to the Yard.

She missed John by seconds.

* * *

Above the roof of St. Bart’s hospital, Sherlock had met Moriarty.

Sherlock said, “I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.”

Exasperated, Moriarty replied, “Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.”

Sherlock turned away from him, becoming increasingly frustrated with the psychopath.

“Go on. For me.” Jim squealed, “Pleeeeeease?”

Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pinned him against the edge of the roof.

“You’re insane.” He breathed.

“You’re just getting that now?”

Sherlock shoved him back farther, eliciting a whoop from Moriarty. The criminal held no fear though, and stared back at Sherlock.

“Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don’t.”

“John.”

“Not just John.” He whispered, “Everyone.”

“Mrs. Hudson.”

“ _Everyone._ ”

“Lestrade.”

“Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There’s no stopping them now.”

Sherlock pulled him back upright, gazing past him towards the ground with almost a look of horror on his face.

“Unless my people see you jump.” Jim told him, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about dear Etheldrea. It should have been sooner, but she’s got more fight in her than I thought. Of course, you knew that. You trained her well. No, no, I’ve got something very special planned for her.  But if you do this, I might just leave her alone. Come on; how far are you willing to go? What would you do? Anything? Everything?”

* * *

Etheldrea walked confidently in Scotland Yard. A security officer stopped her, of course, but reluctantly let her go when he saw the signature slip from Lestrade. She encountered glares from everyone in the offices, but she looked past them all. She knocked on the door where Lestrade was just ending a call. He smiled as she entered.

“Morning. Are you alright?”

She nodded, “I’m fine.”

“Take a seat and we’ll talk.”

She did so and pulled out her pocket sized notebook and a pen; “Basically, what evidence do I need to provide?”

Lestrade sighed, “This is a long list. Accounts from all cases involving the Yard that your dad was part of. Accounts from witnesses, the perpetrators, and possibly the victims should they be alive. Alibies for the nights surrounding the cases. If you can get them, which I’m sure your Uncle can, security tapes would definitely help. Phone records also.”

Etheldrea groaned, “This is going to suck. He has almost fifty members of the homeless network on his phone and probably twice the number without contacts.”

Lestrade looked up towards the doors, looking for anyone listening in. He was sure no one was listening, and he leaned forward.

Quietly, he asked, “Between you and me, is he alright? Is he safe?”

Etheldrea nodded, “Yeah. He’s fine. We know what we have to do, but we’re not sure how to get what we need.”

“What is it?”

She bit her lip, “I’d rather not say. I know you want to help, but Lestrade, I don’t want either of us getting in trouble.”

“No, I understand. Listen, I’m going to help you. I’m going to go through every case and try to do what I can.”

“Thank you Lestrade, this means so much-“

They were interrupted by a knocking at the door. Reluctantly and shyly, Anderson and Donovan walked in. Donovan looked calm on her face but the way she held herself was like she was the bearer of bad news, tense and uneasy. Anderson looked shell shocked, and almost ready to cry. He was trembling, and wouldn’t make eye contact with Etheldrea but when she looked away from him he would stare at her.

“What is it Donovan?” Lestrade asked, a bit gruff.

“Sir, there’s been . . . it’s about . . .” she sighed and walked over to Lestrade to whisper in his ear.

Etheldrea didn’t hear, but it couldn’t be good by Lestrade’s expression. He went from annoyed to shocked, to deeply sadden. He should his head and tried to deny it but Donovan leaned in and whispered to him again.

Lestrade leaned back and put a hand to his face, cleared his throat and then looked at Etheldrea. He was struggling to hold it together.

“Ethel, I . . . I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?” she asked “What’s going?”

“Sherlock . . . your dad . . . he-” He took a deep breath, “He’s . . . gone.”

She frowned, “Gone? Gone where?”

Donovan spoke, “He’s dead.”

“What? No. _No._ ” she stood up, “No! Don’t you dare- don’t you _dare_ say that to me!”

Etheldrea glared at her, to Anderson, and then to Lestrade, “I swear, if this is some cruel _plan_ to get me to tell you where my father is- it won’t work.”

Donovan looked down, “Your Uncle’s here, he told us. Your dad, he . . . killed himself.”

Etheldrea looked at her sharply, “No. I don’t believe this. I don’t.”

Lestrade tried to say, “Ethel-“

“He wouldn’t leave me, not like that. Never like that.” She looked around to all the people in the room trying to convince them, “He would never- he promised me, he’s promised so many times he would never leave me. He doesn’t break promises with me!”

“Etheldrea.” a new voice said.

She turned to the door to see Mycroft blocking the door, expressionless. He bowed his head and she shook hers.

“No, no, _please_! Please! Tell me it’s not true, please Uncle Mycroft, _please_!”

“I’m deeply sorry my dear, but it is.”

She took a step back, gripping the desk with one hand while raising the other in front of her like she was defending off an attack. She shook her head and tried to make a noise but no sound was coming out. Her legs wobbled and after a second, collapsed on her. Lestrade was by her side in an instant, pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her. She just stood still, not crying, expressionless.

When Lestrade let go, she turned away for a moment, straightened herself up and put on a stiff-upper lip. She grabbed her notebook and pen, and then turned to Lestrade.

“I’m terribly sorry for wasting your, Inspector. I’ll be off now.”

“Ethel . . .” he sighed.

She turned and walked to Mycroft, ignoring Donovan and Anderson, the latter of which was looking as though he himself had killed Sherlock. She kept her face expressionless as she followed Mycroft out to his car, ignoring all the pitying looks she received. Inside the car, she still kept up her appearance.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To see someone.”

She was surprised when the car stopped in front of the back entrance to St. Bart’s but she didn’t say a word. She got out and followed Mycroft inside. He led her past lab rooms, and offices until it seemed they were heading in the direction of the morgue. If he was bringing her to see his body, she-

They were walking into a waiting room and sitting in a chair diagonal from their path with a blanket around his shoulders and as somber as an expression a man could carry, was John. Etheldrea stopped walking and stood still. Mycroft, who almost didn’t notice her stop watched what was about to unfold. It took a moment but John looked up.

He stood up, shrugged off the blanket and slowly walked towards them. Etheldrea did the same and just as they were about to meet, all her walls broke down and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. He held onto her like she might disappear but he did not cry.

For several minutes it went on until she was calmer but still crying. He rubbed her back and wouldn’t let go, not until she did. Behind them, Mycroft cleared his throat.

“Etheldrea dear, we must get going.”

Etheldrea let go of John, turned to look at him, and then she realized what he meant. She nodded and then turned back to John and held out her hand.

She sniffled, “It’s been a pleasure Dr. Watson. I’m sorry it had to end like this.”

A look of rage came across John’s face and he furiously shook his head.

“No, you’re staying with me.” He said to her and then to Mycroft, “She is staying with me.”

“I regret to inform you, Dr. Watson, that she is related to _me_ not you.”

“She may as well be. Sher-“ he choked up a bit, “ _He_ asked me to watch over her, to take care of her. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Etheldrea shook her head and wiped away tears that were still flowing, “You don’t have to. I’m not-“

John tried to smile at her, it was a bit broken.

“Even if he hadn’t said anything, I still would. I’ve lost my best friend; I’m not losing you too. We stick together, alright?”

Mycroft said, “Are you sure you can take care of her? You’ve both suffered a tragic loss, will you be able to take care of her while going through that?”

“So have you Mycroft, or do you just not care? Your own brother and you-“ John was starting to shout but Etheldrea placed a hand on his arm.

“Stop, please. It’s alright John, really. I’ll be fine.”

“Etheldrea, answer me truthfully. Do you want to live with your Uncle?”

She closed her eyes, wiped away the still coming tears. She paused, trying to find a good way to answer. But Mycroft saw her hesitation and he took a moment to think.

“I understand. In truth, John would be a much better candidate for this role.”

Etheldrea said, “It’s nothing against you-“

“I know dear. I’m not exactly the loving parent you need. I’ll still want to see you, now and then. Check up on you.”

She nodded, “Of course. And I’m sure my general security still applies.”

“Of course.”

John looked between them both, “You mean . . . I can- I can a-adopt her or something?”

“She’s four months from eighteen, adopting her would take twice that time. No, she’ll be living with you, under your rules until she is a legal adult. There won’t be any paperwork as she is living with my consent.”

Etheldrea said, “Thank you Uncle Mycroft.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sure it will- would have made your father happy.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as another round came on and nodded. John grabbed her and hugged her.

“Best of luck.” Mycroft said, and then walked away.

John and Etheldrea left after that. They had to go break the news to Mrs. Hudson, who also broke down in tears. They all separated into their own grieving spells. John, who still hadn’t cried, sat in his chair and thought about everything. Mrs. Hudson sat in her living room and cried until she laid down for a nap. And Etheldrea stayed in her room, curled under her blankets and sobbing into her pillow. She clutched the pendant he had given her, wishing with everything she had that it would just be a dream.

* * *

As soon as John and Etheldrea left the hospital, Mycroft walked to the morgue. There was a sign on the door, warning of a dangerous chemical spill and that no one should be inside. He ignored it and stepped in.

Molly Hooper was in there, almost panicking when she saw him but then recognized him with a sigh of relief.

“We did it.” She smiled.

He nodded, “Yes, we did. Where’s my little brother?”

“Cleaning up. The blood stained a bit.”

At that moment, the still living Sherlock Holmes walked in from a small room. His pale face had a few light pink streaks across it, and the collar of his jacket looked darker than the rest of the coat. He looked around with a frown.

“Where is she?” he asked Mycroft.

“With John.”

“What? Why?”

“As we were on our way, we passed by him. There wasn’t much I could do without alerting them.”

“And you just let them go? Does she know?”

“No.”

“ _What?_ Mycroft, we agreed-“

Molly went to the bathroom, seeing an argument about to start. Sherlock was starting to shout, and Mycroft responded calmly.

“It’s for the best-“

“You aren’t her father; you don’t decide what’s best for her!”

“Oh, and gallivanting around the world taking down a criminal network while her family and friends believe her to be dead is best? She won’t finish school, she won’t join the Yard. How do you even know she would have wanted to go?”

“Of course she would have.”

“Even without John?”

“Oh shut up! This wasn’t your decision to make Mycroft; she was supposed to be with me!”

“And what about John? He needs her, much more than you do. I’ll be waiting around the back. The area is still closed off, you can get out without anyone seeing you.”

Mycroft turned and walked away, ignoring Sherlock as he tried to continue the argument. Sherlock growled and looked for something to turn his frustration on and he found an apple. He threw it hard and it hit the wall, mushing into a mess as it slid down.

Molly poked her head out and walked over to Sherlock. She wanted to try something to comfort him, but there wasn’t anything she could do.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“I didn’t even tell her good bye.”

“Can’t you get a message to her? Let it know?”

“It would be dangerous. As much as I hate it, Mycroft’s right. She’s loyal to John too. She would tell him the moment she knew.”

“I’m sorry.” She said again.

Sherlock looked towards the door and then down to the floor. He patted the side of his coat and considered something. From an inside pocket, he pulled out a weathered and yellowed envelope. The date on it was from almost eleven years ago. He handed it to Molly.

 “What is it?” she asked.

“This is the only other time I’ve ever lied to her. When I went to rehab, I didn’t talk to her for a month. I wrote her a letter and I told her so, and she thought it got lost in the post. The truth is, I never sent it.”

“Why?”

“Because, she wasn’t ready to know the truth. Give this to her. Tell her you found on the lab table.”

Molly took the letter and smiled, “I have a better idea.”


	18. After the Fall Part 1

Before the sun had even come up, a lone figure was walking. Clutched tightly in their hands was an envelope. They walked up the steps of two two one Baker Street. Carefully they lifted the mail slot and dropped in a letter. Then as quick as they had come, they were gone.

* * *

The next day, reporters showed up outside Baker Street. Everyone and their mother wanted to talk to the daughter of the “fake” detective, and his best friend. Police now and then would come clear away a group but two more reporters would stay around until the coast was clear and then they were knocking on doors again.

Mrs. Hudson finally just ignored it, and spent her time making sure that John and Etheldrea were looking after themselves, which they weren’t. It took an hour of coaxing and finally a demand from John to get Etheldrea to eat anything that morning.

No one talked much. Mrs. Hudson tried but John and Etheldrea sat there, drowning in their grief. Eventually, she left them alone. Etheldrea lay on the sofa, staring at the empty black chair across from John. Everything was hurting. Her body, her heart, her mind. Especially her mind.

Every single thought, every bit of knowledge she had was running through her head like a speeding car and no brakes. Repeating thoughts ran over each other, over and over, and she felt like she might explode. This never happened when her dad was around, not once. She always relied on him to take that burden off her shoulders.

_BZZZZZZ_

They had taken to ringing the doorbell now and then, but the angry noise was still annoying when it happened. Mrs. Hudson had it fixed a couple of months ago after Sherlock had taken it out . . . again.

_BZZZZZZ_

Now it seemed even louder, beating itself into her brain. It sounded all wring. It wasn’t the sound of a person with a case, it was the call of “Hey! I know you’re in there! You can’t hide!”

_BZZZZZZ_

A case, that’s what it should have been. Her dad would be in his chair and the bell would buzz, and then Mrs. Hudson would bring them up. But that wasn’t happening anymore. It couldn’t.

_BZZZZZZ_

She stood up and rushed down the stairs, ignoring John’s calls. Before the fifth ring of the doorbell even finished, Etheldrea threw open the door and stalked down the stairs. Lights and flashbulbs nearly blinded her but she didn’t dare squint or flinch away. She waited at the bottom as the reporters grouped in a semi-circle around her. They were all about to ask questions but she raised a hand. The noise died own, the lights stopped, and everyone waited with bated breath for her to say something. When she spoke it was calm and even without a single wavier.

“I will not take questions, answer them, or even acknowledge them. I will not respond to any calls for interviews, articles, or whatever the case may be. As soon as I say what is needed, you all will get off my porch, go back to where you’re from, and leave my family and me alone. Now that that’s out of the way. My father, Sherlock Holmes, is not what these tabloids are calling him. Never in his entire life did he create a case for personal gain nor would he ever. My father is- was a genius and a brilliant man, the best- no, the greatest man I ever had the chance of knowing and I am beyond proud to be his daughter. It doesn’t matter what you say about him, what you claim to have been told, because I know the truth. I know, I believe. I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”

Then she turned and walked inside. She closed the door, locked it, and then slid down as her energy was spent. John, who had waited at the stairs, went to sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes and tried to imagine it was Sherlock. But she couldn’t, he was just too John.

“I want my dad.” She whispered quietly.

John’s voice cracked, “I know love, I know.”

* * *

A while later, John went back upstairs while Etheldrea went to see Mrs. Hudson. Their landlady was in her living room watching something on TV while wiping her eyes. When she saw Etheldrea enter, she quickly paused it.

“Oh, Drea dear. What do you need?” she sniffled.

Etheldrea shook her head, “I just wanted to visit.”

Mrs. Hudson patted the cushion next to her, “I was just watching some movies.”

She sat down and saw on the screen a much younger her and Sherlock as Mrs. Holmes spied on them through a crack in the door. He was reading her a story before bed, like he had always done before she decided only babies had stories read to them. That had been when she was nine, and as soon as it stopped she had missed it. Had he missed it too?

Mrs. Hudson sighed, “Reading was the only time you ever sat still.”

“There’s was too much to do.” She replied with a sad smile, “What’s he reading?”

“A little children’s horror book. You’ve always loved scary stories.”

The home movie began to play again. Sherlock was reading a book that had been her second favorite as a child.

_“Once there was a girl named Jenny. She was like all the other girls, except for one thing. She always wore a green ribbon around her neck.”_

_Etheldrea was watching the book intensely, clutching the blanket as she waited for something scary to happen._

_“There was a boy named Alfred in her class. Alfred liked Jenny, and Jenny liked Alfred. One day he asked her, ‘Why do you wear that ribbon all the time?’ ‘I cannot tell you.’ Said Jenny. But Alfred kept asking, ‘Why_ do _you wear it?’ and Jenny would say, ‘It is not important.’”_

_Sherlock had a smirk on his face as he glanced at his daughter. She had a smile on but she was shaking._

_“Jenny and Alfred grew up and fell in love. One day they got married. After their wedding, Alfred said ‘Now that we are married, you must tell me about the green ribbon.’ ‘You still must wait,’ said Jenny, ‘I will tell you when the right time comes.”_

As a five year old, _The Green Ribbon_ had been terrifying. Etheldrea closed her eyes and remembered every time he had read this story to her. The sinking feeling in her stomach as the end drew closer and closer, the chills as his voice got lower and deeper for the big reveal, and then the shear panic as it happened.

_“Years passed. Alfred and Jenny grew old. One day Jenny became very sick. The doctor told her she was dying. Jenny called Alfred to her side.”_

_Etheldrea drew the blankets up to her chin._

_“’Alfred,’ she said, ‘now I can tell you about the green ribbon.’ Untie it, and you will see why I could not tell you before.’ Slowly . . . and carefully,”_

_Etheldrea squeaked as Sherlock read as slow as Alfred._

_“Alfred untied the ribbon . . . and Jenny’s head. Fell. Off.”_

_Etheldrea shrieked and dove under her covers. Sherlock was struggling not to laugh as he closed the book and went to put it away. He stood by the side of her bed and reached down to scoop her up. The little lump shrieked again and then laughed. Sherlock pulled the blankets down and away._

_“You know it’s not real.” He said._

_“Well duh, but that doesn’t mean it’s not scary.” Etheldrea replied._

_“Very true. Now, you have school in the morning.”_

_“Will you read another? Please! Daddy, please!”_

_“It’s nearly eleven; you’ll be tired in the morning.”_

_“So? It’s never stopped me before.”_

_Sherlock smirked, “Alright but only if you promise not to complain.”_

_“I don’t promise_ anything _.”_

_“You never do. Fine, one more.”_

_He gave her a kiss on the cheek and then set her down on the bed. He grabbed the book again and sat back down and started to read._

The video cut off and turned to gray static. Mrs. Hudson turned it off and looked to the floor where a whole box of videos sat.

“Your grandmother gave me all of these when they moved. Have you talked to her yet?”

“This morning. She and grandpa seem to be doing better than us but I didn’t actually see them so . . .”

“Are they coming over for the- for the . . . you know.”

She shook her head, “They don’t think they could handle it.”

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?”

“Not at all. I was hoping it was something to help stop Moriarty but . . . he would have told us by now. I just . . .”

“What is it dear?”

“I don’t understand. You know what John said, but dad was above all that. He wouldn’t care about any of it. Why would he- why would he leave me?”

“Etheldrea Wisteria Holmes, don’t dare think for a minute he doesn’t love you.”

“He said he’d never leave me.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed, “I don’t know if we’ll ever know why he did what he did, but I do know he loved you to pieces. You were his whole world, and he most certainly didn’t leave because of you.”

She mumbled, “It always feels like it.”

Mrs. Hudson leaned over to an end table and grabbed some mail. She flipped through until she reached a letter and gave it to Etheldrea.

“I found this with the post this morning. I was going to wait a couple days, I didn’t know if you were well enough, but maybe you need it.”

The letter was old, with water marks and an almost yellow color to it. On the front, her name and Mycroft’s address was written. In the corner was the address of the rehab her dad had gone to.

“He told me it was lost in the mail.”

“And now it found its way back here.”

“How though? There should be locations markings and other dates on here. A stamp, there’s no stamp.”

“It’s just one of those life mysteries dear. Open it, see what’s in there.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “You’re right, I can’t. Not yet.”

* * *

She kept the letter folded and in her pants pocket. Maybe in a few days she’d feel better and then she’d read it. Until then, she laid on the couch while she and John didn’t pay attention to what was on TV. It was only the afternoon but it felt like a week had passed.

Etheldrea was just getting up from the sofa as she heard someone coming up the stairs. It wasn’t Mrs. Hudson, the steps too quick to be hers. She gave a timid glance to John because who would have been able to get in? They weren’t expecting anyone, not even Mycroft. But, the question of who was answered as a blonde girl rushed to the door and paused to stare at Etheldrea.

Etheldrea asked, “Abigail?”

Abigail, her eyes bright and glossy with tears, shook her head and quickly went to engulf Etheldrea in a hug.  At first, she was weary, but gave in without a second thought. She clung to her best friend and did her best not to cry but that failed.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, “I came as soon as I heard.”

“Let’s go to my room.” Etheldrea said quietly.

They sat on her bed legs crossed and sharing her purple blanket. Etheldrea filled in everything that had happened, having to stop now and again as the story threatened to overwhelm her. She told her about how it started with her Uncle holding Moriarty, and why she had to cut Abigail out, and then the kidnapped children until finally what had happened yesterday.

Abigail listened, unable to believe that this could have happened. Of course, she absolutely believed Etheldrea, she was her best friend after all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Arrangements are taken care of. I’ll send a car around two days from now at seven. - MH**

The night before the funeral, Etheldrea couldn’t sleep. Over the past few days she had hadn’t been able to sleep, but this night was different. Instead of tossing and turning and quieting her crying into her pillows, she was simply awake.

She lay like a log underneath her blankets, unmoving and staring at the ceiling. Now and then there would be a creak or a crack as the foundation shifted. The flat was dark and mostly quiet, but it seemed so out of place. By this time of night, it was always this quiet but there had been no usual sounds to greet it. The TV had been shut off long before they’d gone to bed, and there were no usual creaks of the sofa or chairs as someone moved.

There was no violin.

Etheldrea peeled back her blankets and stood up. She walked to her desk and pulled open a side drawer. From it, she took out an mp3 and then went back to her bed. She put in the earbuds and then flipped through the audio tracks until she found it. There wasn’t an official name to it, but as it had been composed for her specifically, everyone dubbed it Etheldrea’s Lullaby.

She put it on repeat, closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, fell sound asleep.

* * *

Despite falling asleep last, Etheldrea was the first up. She changed into her clothes, and then waited for everyone else.

She was curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the empty black chair in front of her. She sighed and turned to face the ceiling, her eyes glancing towards the spray painted smiley face on the wall behind her. She sighed again and turned towards the black chair once more. On the coffee table was a letter she had been putting off for days.

She didn’t want to read, she was too scared. Days ago everything in her life was flipped upside down, and this letter would only add to it. What could one more catastrophic event add? She would be happier if she didn’t read it, but she wasn’t happy to begin with.

She made a decision, and with aching limbs, pushed herself up and reached for the envelope. She ripped through the flap and pulled out the folded paper. Her hands shaking, she unfolded and began to read.

_To my dearest daughter, you have absolutely no idea how much I love you and the length I would go to keep you safe. You are sure to have questions, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to answer them. Certain events have compelled me to leave you but I know you will be better off._

She stopped reading, a hand flying to her mouth and tears streaming down her face. She crumpled the letter in her one hand and stuffed it under the sofa cushion. She couldn’t read it now, not yet.

She heard the stairs creak as John made his way down, and she quickly wiped her eyes. He walked in and went to sit in his chair. He was dressed already, and appeared in the same mood as Etheldrea.

“Are you alright this morning?” he asked.

She shrugged, “As best as I can be now. You?”

“Same. Let’s just get today over with.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

* * *

Etheldrea stood with Mycroft near the entrance of the funeral home as they waited for people to arrive. The list of people attending was the only bit Etheldrea contributed to, and they weren’t expecting many. A couple people whose cases they solved came, including Henry Knight. It was very private, Mycroft made sure of that.

The service would be relatively quick. No speeches, video presentations, or photos. People could share their memories, a little send off, and then lunch. Closed casket. Apparently this was what he wanted, it was in his will. Etheldrea didn’t think he had had a will; he was still young for that. Evidently she was wrong.

“How are you fairing?” Mycroft asked quietly.

“What do you think? What about you?”

“I’m handling it like I do most things.”

Etheldrea sighed, “Right.”

She took a step away, but then Mycroft grabbed her shoulder. She turned back to him but looked at the floor. He spoke calmly

“Etheldrea, I am mourning just like you. Sherlock and I may have had our differences, but we did agree on one thing. Keeping you safe.”

“And what you did, what you told _him_ was it?” she scorned.

“Don’t think for a moment I don’t regret my actions in this.”

“Honestly, Uncle Mycroft, I don’t know what to think about anything anymore.”

She turned away and walked into the viewing room. John stood by himself, staring out a window. Mrs. Hudson was talking with Mrs. Turner.  Sitting down and flipping through a pamphlet was Abigail. Etheldrea sat back down next to her. She had come back down earlier that morning and was nearly glued to Etheldrea’s side. She hadn’t let her feel alone for a minute and stayed back at Mycroft’s word.

“Hey.” Abigail said, “Everything alright with you two?”

“I’m torn between just accepting he’s going to be the same as always and hating him with every fiber of my being. As far as emotionless Holmes go, he’s the best.”

“Don’t strive to beat him, ok. That’s probably the worst possible thing you could do.”

“I know. I had a similar talk with my dad once. It’s just . . .”

Abigail grabbed her hand and gave a reassuring squeeze, “I know.”

Etheldrea sighed, “I just want this over with. I’ve never understood funerals. Everyone sitting, moping, remembering. What good will it do? It just makes people sadder.”

Abigail shrugged, “It helps some people move on. It helped my brother after Gran died. You’re one of the others. People who grieve in their own time.”

“And how long does that take?”

“It’s different per person. But you won’t be alone. I’m always here for you.”

Etheldrea nodded, “Same here. Thanks by the way. For coming.”

Abigail hugged her, “Of course.”

Etheldrea sighed, “You know, he would have hated this. All of it.”

“I’m sure. You have the same thoughts he did, right?”

“Yeah. If ghosts exist, I’d expect him to be sitting right next to us complaining.”

Abigail giggled, “And trying to convince us to sneak out.”

“We’d go along with it.”

“Definitely.”

“Then we’d probably call Lestrade for a case. Because death isn’t going to stop him from his work.”

Etheldrea tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and breathed. Abigail watched her with a frown.

“Are you alright?”

Etheldrea shook her head, “Not really. I’m just sick of crying. I keep doing it.”

“It’s alright. My grandpa told me once that sadness is sticky and crying helps wash it away.”

A new voice said, “He’s a smart man.”

Etheldrea opened her eyes and straightened her head. Lestrade had arrived, and was standing in front of her. She stood up and held out her hand which he shook.

“It’s nice to see you.” He said, “I’m so sorry about everything. I never thought- it was never-“

“Inspector, I don’t blame you for anything that’s happened.”

They both sat down, and Abigail excused herself so they could talk.

“We can still prove it.” He said, “I’m in the deep end at the moment, but we can meet and look over things on my days off. We can prove them wrong.”

“What’s the point now? It won’t do anything for him.”

“It would though. Do you think he’ll rest easy knowing the whole world thinks he’s a fraud? You and me, we team up and search everything we can.”

“How though? The things in the newspapers, that article by that Riley woman, the only thing false is he’s a fraud. It could take years, and like I said, it won’t help him now. What we should do is start searching Moriarty’s network and take it down.”

“Etheldrea, that’s too dangerous for you.”

“For me? After all I’ve seen, all I’ve been through? It’s too dangerous? Dad would let me help.”

“You haven’t helped in months-“

“And look where we are? Maybe if I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I hadn’t quit listening to him, if I had just been _me_ we wouldn’t be here.”

Lestrade wrapped and arm around her, “Don’t blame yourself sweetheart. You were being you. You’re stubborn, and unwilling to listen, especially to your dad. Nothing would have changed, though, and you can’t go chasing after suspects because of it. Besides, what about joining the Yard this fall?”

“Will I even receive an application?”

“Of course you will. I’ll even write in a good word for you.”

“But the network-“

“What would your dad want? At this moment, right now, what would your dad want?”

Etheldrea closed her eyes, “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not supposed to be, but Etheldrea we can’t lose you too.”

She sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

A while later, after everyone came, and speeches were given, Etheldrea was standing side by side with John and Abigail. She was the first to step forward and place a red rose on the coffin, and she made a promise as she walked away. No matter what Lestrade said, or what anyone else would say, she was going to finish what had started.

* * *

“Do you think we should move out of Baker Street?”

John asked while they were eating Chinese takeaway. He didn’t skim across the question nor was he blunt about it. It was a simple question but it nearly made her drop her fork. It had been a month since the funeral, since _it_ , and she had thought things were getting better.

She and Abigail reconnected, and she visited every few days. John had gotten a job at a hospital not far away. The media had finally moved on to better things. Secretly she had been researching everything she could about Moriarty and where his network was located. She wasn’t hunting, yet, but she finding enough to help her cause. Things were better, they were better. Well, kind of.

She cried still. At night, when everyone was sleeping, she would still cry. The flat was far too quiet at night, but sometimes she thought she would things. Little noises like her dad were still in the flat. The occasional creak of floor boards, his laugh, the violin.

There were also the real noses she heard sometimes. Mrs. Hudson watching home movies, John pacing his bed room, him crying. She had never said a word nor let him know she knew, but she still heard late at night. She supposed he thought she was asleep, but she never really was.

Did she think they should move out of Baker Street? Baker Street was practically were she had grown up, the closest home she was going to have now that Sherlock was gone. Growing up she had moved to a new flat every year. Moving was something she had become accustomed to until they met John. Baker Street was the longest she had stayed anywhere since she was a toddler. If they moved out, what home would she have?

Home is where the heart is, and she took that statement quite literally. Home was where you felt safe, comfortable, loved. How could an actual house be that way if you weren’t there for long? But her dad had always been there. Took her in, raised her, and never made her feel as though she was different. Home was her dad, and now he was gone. What did she have now?

John. It was obviously John. He had been there right from the moment they met. Home was with him now, and always would be. So did she think they should move out of Baker Street?

“Yes.”

* * *

_Three Months Later_

John and Mrs. Hudson approached the grave alone. Etheldrea didn’t go. She said her excuse was she was going on vacation, but John had a feeling there was more to it. The past few months hadn’t been easy on her. When she wasn’t with Abigail, she was shut up in her room, rarely coming out only for meals and other necessities. He knew she wasn’t quite ready to visit yet.

They stood in front of the black marble tombstone and stared for a little bit. Mrs. Hudson had brought flowers along and set them in front of the grave. She stood beside John and looped an arm through his.

“There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. Ethel dear doesn’t either. I thought I’d take it to a school . . . Would you . . ?”

“I can’t go back to the flat again. Not at the moment. I’m angry.”

“It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise, firing guns at half past one in the morning!”

“Yeah.” John agreed quietly.

“Bloody specimens in my fridge! Imagine, keeping bodies where there’s food!”

“Yes.”

“And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings on!”

He turned to her, “Yeah, listen, I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?”

She turned away as she tried not to cry, “Okay. I’ll leave you alone to . . . you know.”

John waited until she was out of ear shot to speak, “You, you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Um, there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, and the most human . . . human being that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. That’s so . . . There.

He stepped forward and placed his fingers on the grave, “I was so alone, and I owe you so much. And I swear on my life, I will take care of Etheldrea. I will always be there for her; you can count on that. . . . Now, please, there’s just one more thing. One more thing, one more miracle. Sherlock, for me, for her. Don’t. Be. Dead.”

His voice cracked as tears threatened to break, “Would you do that? Just for us. Just stop it. Stop this.”

He lowered his head and cried into his hand, and after a minute he stood straight and tall like a proud solider and walked away. He met with Mrs. Hudson and the pair traveled back to drop her off, and then John continued home.

He poured himself a glass of scotch and was about to sit down when his phone rang. He set the glass down, pulled out his phone to check the ID, and answered.

“Yeah Greg?” John asked, “. . . It’s her birthday, she always does something like this on her birthday. . . Yeah, it’s just a day trip. She’ll be back by- . . . she’s _what_? . . . Where is she now? . . . Alright, I’m coming. I’ll call you when I get there.”

* * *

When John left the graveyard, he failed to see a man watching him from the trees edge. The man reflected on what had just heard, and then turned and walked towards a black car waiting for him. To those around the world, he was a dead man. But they were wrong, as always. He pulled out his phone and read a message. It was the location of his next assignment.

**Edinburgh. – MH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the final chapter of The Greatest Man.   
> The next story, The Blessed Unrest, will chronicle Etheldrea through the two years that Sherlock is gone. Each chapter will be based on a song by the artist Sara Bareilles who has an album of the same name, which is where the songs are coming from.


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